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Jgrical fUcreationa 



• 

SAMUEL WARD. 



Je vous donne avecque ma foy 
Ce qu'il yade mieulx en moy. 

Old French Love Song. 




LONDON; 
JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74. & 75, PICCADILLY. 

1871. 



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TO 



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exry Hall W ard, 



T RUE G E N T L E M A N, K I N S M A N, 



AND FRIEND. 



C O N T E N T S. 



The King of the Troubadours 
Monkhood 

Time the Auctioneer 

The Glass-Blower 

The Monitor 

Panacea 

Montauk Light 

Hymn to Mars 

The Maiden's Children 

The Incomplete Picture 

The Tree and the Shadow 

Fruition 

Leaves and Stars 

October Lay . 



3 

10 

16 

19 



26 

3 1 

35 
40 

43 

49 

5 2 
54 



CONTENTS. 



Song of the Wren 
Falconry 
The Poet's Acre 
To Alfred Tennyson 
Epimenides 
Waking Dream 
Orchard Fantasia 
Give me Joy . 
Ziska . 
Metempsychosis 
The Wise Maiden 
The Old Rope 
The Two Mirrors 
The Hebrew Alphabi 
The Old Teacher 
The Tryst 
Palmistry 
Minstrelsy 
porrigo dextram 
Not Wine Alone 
The Rudy Goblet 
Bohemian Song 
Waltz . 



CONTENTS. 


IX 




PAGE 


Mazurka . 


158 


CONTRADANZA . . 


l60 


The Blind Fiddler . 


l64 


New Music . 


169 


Stradivarius . 


173 


Ignes Fatui . 


176 


Dawn at Midnight . 


179 


The Charge .... 


l8l 


The Moon and the Beacon 


l82 


La Chocolatiere 


I84 


Dolores .... 


. 186 


Titian to Stella 


. 188 


At Last .... 


T90 


Enfin ..... 


. 191 


Still ..... 


. I96 


The Mariner's Betrothed . 


. I98 


Man Overboard 


200 


Catechism 


. 201 


Metathalamium 


206 


Zampita .... 


. 208 


By the Coffin 


. 213 


To the Poet of Farringford 


■ 2I 5 


Modern Faith 


. 219 



X CONTENTS, 






PAGE 


In Fifth Avenue 


. 224 


Tom's Funeral 


229 


A Royal "Abode 


' 235 


Beckford 


. 238 


To a Well-known Camellia 


. 241 


Mediaeval Art 


- 243 


Modern Sketching . 


. 245 


The Exile 


. 249 


Lost and Found 


. 251 


The Widow of Worcester . 


. 258 


The Budded Rose 


. 262 


Mon Dernier Amour 


. 264 


Antepenultimate 


. 267 


Sub Tegmine Fagi 


. 269 


The Poet's Voice 


• 273 


Le Manoir de Locksley 


• 275 




LYRICAL RECREATIONS. 



i 



r 



1 J THEN in my walks I meet some ruddy lad — 






Or swarthy man — with tray-beladen head, 
Whose smile entreats me, or his visage sad, 
To buy the images he moulds for bread, 

I think that, though his poor Greek Slave in chains, 
His Venus and her Boy with plaster dart, 

Be, like the Organ-Grinder* s quavering strains, 
But farthings in the currency of art; 

Such coins a kingly effigy still wear — 
Let metals base or precious in them mix — 

The painted vellum hallows not the Prayer, 
Nor ivory nor gold the Crucifix. 



#abe nun/ ad) I $p§itofop$te, 
Surijferet unb SRcbtctn/ 
Unb Xeibcr audf) &f)eologte 
Surdjaug ftubtrt/ mtt tyetfiem SBemtffyn. 
2)a fte$' td& nun/ td) armer £&or ! 
Unb bin fo Hug aW ttrie &u&or. 

gauft. 

I have, alas ! Philosophy, 

Juristery and Medicine, 

And, woe is me ! Theology, 

At length dug through with study keen, 

And stand here now a fool as poor 

In wealth and wisdom as before ! 

Faust. 



TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 



THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURSx 



BfgjjjaENE, King of Provence, when he felt his sceptre 

IsksssI glide away, 

Called upon his minstrels many, each to sing a parting 

lay : 
" Song is but Prayer set to music, therefore pray for 

me, good friends, 
Not because my waning power scarce beyond these 

walls extends — 
But that, with my poor dominion, taketh flight the 

modest hoard 
Which enabled me to welcome Art's dear children 

round my board/ 

1—2 



4 THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 

Then, in turn their rebecs sweeping, minstrel after 

minstrel sang, 
Till, with wailing and with weeping, all the saddened 

echoes rang, 
Rang a quire of grief lamenting the dispersion of that 

band 
Thenceforth desolate as butterflies when storms assail 

the land. 
When the last his virelay ended, sobs sighed chorus 

in the hall 
As the King, with arms extended, waved a benison to 

all. 

Then, as glows the westering sun within a cloud of 
fleecy white, 

Beamed his visage, 'mid its silvery locks, with inspira- 
tion's light, 

As he grasped his crusty viol, woke to life its every 
wire, 

Till the notes flew out like sparks when yields the 
smitten steel its fire ; 



THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 5 

Sparks that set his aged voice ablaze, until it towered 

high 
As a swan's whose folded pinions never more shall 

cleave the sky. 

"We have all been too long dreaming; from our 

dreams we now awake. 
Sorrow teaches us God's meaning; thankfully the 

lesson take. 
Man was not made for inaction midst the dalliances 

of life, 
But to labor for His glory who hath led him through 

its strife. 
He decrees that you shall sing your way through 

castle, dorp, and mart, 
Leaving me to spend my lonely days in culture of our 

Art; 
For, though Charles the Bold and Louis have de- 
spoiled the monarch's throne, 
This poor viol which they scorned to seize, is still the 

minstrel's own, 



6 THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 

And may prove a sceptre that shall wield a more 

enduring sway 
Than his reign which, like a bird of passage, vanished 

in a day. 

" What surviveth of the glory of King David's crown 

and sword, 
But the Psalms that Monarch hoary sang in honor of 

the Lord ? 
Are not Orpheus, Anacreon, and the Sightless Bard 

of Troy 
As immortal as Achilles who made war his only 

joy? 
When the eagle drops a feather, 'tis divided, and one 

end 
Plumes the arrow of the bow that needs Ulysses' arm 

to bend ; 
While the other is the Poet's pen, to ages handing 

down 
Valiant deeds embalmed by measure in the amber of 

renown. 



THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 7 

" Go, then, forth and preach the Gospel of the Lyre 
in every land, 

Softening men with its sweet teachings by the voice 
and by the hand. 

Let each one, in his vocation, found a kingdom of 
his own 

In the People's hearts, which — not his court — sus- 
tain a monarch's throne. 

" Sing the praise of Him who made you, and of all 
that He hath made ; 

Sing the charms of woman ; sing the terrors of the 
warrior's blade, 

Till, its silk to gold transumed, the thread of song 
become a chain, 

Leading men up to the gates of death as in a wed- 
ding train ; 

And I hear rude Northern wanderers troll, before 
my gate, the lays 

Sung by Rene and his Trouveres in their young and 
happy days." 



8 . THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS. 

Like the leaves that skirt the forest, when they droop 

with April's rain, 
Drooped the minstrels' tearful eyelids when the King 

intoned his strain. 
Like those leaves, when clouds disperse before the 

charge of Heaven's patrol, 
Caught their lifted lids the sunshine of the King's un- 
daunted soul. 
When he ceased, as murmur wind-swept pines, their 

voices woke the air 
With a chaunt in which a jubilee gleamed through 

deep chords of prayer. 
Then, with souls cheered by his blessing, they departed 

one by one, 
And, at even, in his banquet-hall King Ren£ sat 

alone. 

Since that day on which those Trouvlres left their 

crownless King forlorn, 
Full four hundred times have holy chimes rung in the 

Christmas morn. 



THE KING OF THE TROUBADOURS, 9 

Who shall say how many a lay, of church and feast 

and dance and song, 
Is an echo of the voices of that poor disbanded 

throng ? 
As I sing I hear them ringing through the caverns of 

the Past, 
And my feeble breath but wafts some minstrel's 

cadence down the blast. 







MONKHOOD. 

EMI-RIGID, half-elastic, 
Was the pious, old monastic 
Scheme of life ; 



When the lenten bread of heaven 
With a dash of human leaven 
Aye was rife. 



Through dark ages, they kept burning 
The forbidden lamps of learning 

In their cells ; 
As, in Afric's sands, the rover, 
With protecting stones, doth cover 

The glad wells. 



MONKHOOD. 1 1 

And, with extacy, the stainless 
Mother loved they, who, in painless 

Travail, bore 
Him whose birth and crucifixion 
Loosed the bonds of our affliction 

Evermore, 



Lordly herds, on meadows, thriving 
Under vineyards, they, by shriving 

Sinners, got 
Pious hinds their wealth augmented, 
And their broad lands tilled, contented 

With their lot, 



That the Friars worldly pleasure, 
In their lay-days, without measure 

Had enjoyed, 
And discovered that the madness 
Of the revel's sinful gladness 

Left a void, 



12 MONKHOOD. 

Taught them that the peasant's toil 
On the mute, but grateful, soil 

Is a fate 
Happier than his wild ambition, 
Who aspires unto Patrician 

Pomp and state. 



And the monk, so old and shabby, 
Seemed the image of his Abbey, 

Grey and hoary : 
Winter's rudest blasts defying, 
With its inward and undying 

Warmth of glory. 



Chimed the convent-bell a marriage ? 
He uncoifed his austere carriage, 

And was mortal ; 
As with benediction saintly, 
Ushered he the fond ones quaintly 

Through hope's portal. 



MONKHOOD. 13 



But a sad yet tender riot 
Sometimes thrilled his pulse's quiet 

With strange charms, 
When the holy-water glistened 
On the new-bora infant, christened 

In his arms, 



And you saw each waxen finger 
With unconscious twitchings linger 

Round the boy ; 
As though yearnings, pent and hidden. 
Cried within, for the forbidden 

Human joy. 



And his eyes, through fond mists glowing, 
Saw the babe in stature growing, 

Till the day 
When himself its soul might foster, 
And, with creed and Pater>noster, 

Point the way. 



H MONKHOOD. 

Like the glass a sigh hath clouded, 
Brighter shone his gaze when, crowded 

Near the font, 
He beheld God's children pressing, 
And bestowed a warmer blessing 

Than his wont. 



Called the death-bell's lingering knelling 
Prince or peasant from life's dwelling 

To depart ? 
By those Heaven-sent stewards shriven, 
Who the imps of sin had driven 

From his heart, 



Each a message, as he kissed him, 
Whispered softly and dismissed him 

On glad wing ; 
Like the bark that carries tidings 
From a Viceroy's distant bidings 

To his King. 



MONKHOOD. 15 

Fiercely they rebuked the scorner, 
Tenderly consoled the mourner 

In his sorrow ; 
Eyes, all moist to-day with sadness, 
Shone serene midst festive gladness 

On the morrow. 



Thus abroad, with zeal unending, 
Rich and poor alike befriending, 

Lived the Friars : 
Vigil, fast, and flagellations 
Mortified the world's temptations 

And desires. 



And when waxed the poor monk paler, 
Until granted him Life's gaoler 

His release, 
Earth's sad stewardship resigning, 
Homeward flew his spirit, pining, — 

Into peace. 



TIME THE AUCTIONEER. 




j|TANDS the clock within the hall, 
Like a monk against the wall, 
Like a hooded monk with eyes 
Owl-like, spectral, solemn, wise, 
In whose sockets, moon and sun 
Mimic phase and season run ; 
While, beneath the face austere, 

" Going ! Gone ! Going ! Gone !" 
Time, the ruthless Auctioneer, 

Sells the moments one by one ; 
Moments all too cheaply sold ! 
Save to Love, for lavished gold ! 
Save to crime, with dagger bold ! 



TIME THE AUCTIONEER, I J 

Four and twenty times a day 
Step the Morrice-dancers gay, 
From their tire-room in the clock, 
At the hour's impatient knock ; 
Wind in courteous rigadoon, 
Wind in cadence with the tune, 
Vanish with its blithesome strain, 

" Going ! Gone ! Going ! Gone P 
Time his hammer raps again. 

Hark ! A groan ! Hark ! A groan ! 
Groan for that bright hour just past 
Breathed by one would hold it fast, 
For the next shall be his last ! 

Through the western oriel fall 
Sunset glories in the hall. 
Thus at eve they ever pour 
Rainbowed rapture on the floor. 
Now the Virgin's lips are pressed 
On yon cherub's sculptured rest, 
Now ascends a crimson stain 
From the storied window-pane, 



1 8 TIME THE AUCTIONEER. 

Till the light of evening skies 
Glimmers in those sleepless eyes. 
Drink, poor monk, the lingering rays, 

" Going ! Gone £ Going ! Gone !" 
Brief their lustre ! Brief thy gaze 

On the sun ! Day is done ! 

Pensive, in the twilight hour, 
Sits the maiden in her bower ; 
Broods the felon in his tower. 
One — the noon a bride shall see ! 
One — at noon shall cease to be ! 




THE GLASS-BLOWER, 




FROM chaos, with creative hand 
And fiery breath and magic wand, 
I saw an artizan expand 

And mould a crystal earth, 
Where Plain and Hill and Sea and Isle 
Were blended in the sunny smile 
That saw our Planet's birth. 

Where trees sprang up, whose foliage, dyed 

Unfadingly in Summer's pride, 

Rude Autumn's withering breath defied, 

And Winter's icy blasts ; 
xAud ships, becalmed on wrinkled seas, 
Though full their sails, felt not the breeze 

That bent their tapering masts. 

2 — 2 



20 THE GLASS-BLOWER. 

A city rose upon the shore 
And, on its quay, the stevedore 
Awaited to unload and store 

That spell-bound navy's freight ; 
While on the scaffold felons stood, 
Unhanged above the multitude, 

Before the prison gate. 



In gardens of ungathered fruit, 

Young lovers sat whose tongues were mute ? 

Nor thrilled its spell the anxious lute 

Within the maiden's hands ; 
They smiled, in bliss without regret, 
As only they who feel not yet 

The altar's silken strands. 



And when the adept's task w r as done, 
I saw the boy for whom was spun 
That globe, its beauties, one by one, 
With childish ardor greet ; 



THE GLASS-BLOWER. 



Then clutch it with such eager grip 

That mountain, city, tree, and ship 

Fell shivered at his feet. 



And thought — when down shall shade his chin, 

And Fancy mould a world akin 

To that bright Earth, unstain'd by sin, 

The adept's fingers wrought — 
He'll clutch and lose it, as a boy, 
The bubbles which he saw with joy 

In rainbow meshes caught. 



Yet, when his disenchanted eyes 
Shall cease to see the mirage rise, 
Between him and the desert's skies, 

Above the phantom wave, 
He'll halt and kneel and cross his hands,— 
Nor long the Simoon's shifting sands 

Will mark the new-made grave ! 



THE MONITOR, 



MISER joined a funeral train, 

With flinty eye, 
And thought, " Yon wretch, whose every vein 
I drained till naught was left to gain, 

Did well to die." 



He passed the cypress-sentried gate 

With footstep firm ; 
Nay, lighter trod, because elate 
" That his was not the lonely fate 
Of that poor worm." 



He stood the yawning grave beside, 

All undismayed, 
While Delver and Sacristan vied 
Which first the coffin's lid should hide 

With eager spade. 



THE MONITOR. 23 

Then, homeward sauntering, he passed 

His father's tomb, 
And felt his pulses throbbing fast, 
In memory of his joy when last 

He, through its gloom, 

Saw glittering the radiant hoard, 

His lifelong lust, 
Forgetful that, though now its lord, 
He soon must by his sire be stored, 

And waste to dust. 

But when, at home, to meet him, stole 

The meek-faced lad 
Into whose lap must one day roll 
The wealth for which he'd pawned his soul, 

His brow grew sad. 





PANACEA, 

HEN skies are gray, and droops my mateless 
heart 

Within this attic drear, 
I wander forth into the restless mart, 

Through labor's busy sphere, 
Or thread the moist and dismal lanes, 
Where poverty reveals its pains. 



My wind-swept garret then a palace seems, 

A tropic sun my fire — 
My books a mine of bliss, while cheerly steams 
The kettle's soothing quire. 
My toast is made, my tea is brewed 
Once more with smiling gratitude. 



PANACEA. 2$ 

Whilst I, comparing mine with sadder stars, 

Thus magnify its light, 
Which seems to those encaged by misery's bars 
With happiest lustre bright ; 
The lot of captive, drudge, or slave 
Is brighter far, beside the grave, 

Than mine, compared with that by them deplored, 

Or than the grander fate 
Of Croesus, revelling amidst his hoard, 
. A king without a state- 
Though, for his standard, taketh he 
The measure of my poverty. 




MONTAUK LIGHT. 



LATITUDE 41° 4/ 12" N. LONGITUDE 71° 51' 54" w - 



JIEFORE the stars appear on high, 
I open wide my Cyclops eye, 

Like them unseen by day ; 
Though, while they roll in distant realms, 
My vacant face still guides the helms 

That o'er the waters stray, 



The only living things I view, 

At times, are cormorant and mew ; 

Yet, from my stage-box grand, 
I watch the drama of the skies, 
And hear, through awful symphonies, 

The Storm-King lead his band. 



MO NT AUK LIGHT. 27 

When clouds obscure the starry host, 
My smile beams brighter on the tost 

And storm-imperilled ships 5 
While rock-cleft surges shoreward hie, 
Like troubled souls whose bodies lie 

Where yon horizon dips. 



Then booms the signal-gun its prayer, 
And counts, w 7 ith pulse of wild despair, 

The moments that remain 
To those upon some bark forlore, 
Ere from its wreck their souls shall soar 

Beyond the hurricane. 

The dawning day uncurtains night. 
As on a plain where fierce in fight 

At eve men charged and fell — 
The slain, amid bale, plank, and spar, — 
Though undefaced by bruise or scar, — 

The Tempest's victory tell, 



28 MO NT AUK LIGHT. 

On serpent waves, that languidly 
Unroll their coils along the sea, 

With victims satiate, 
Until to sharp resentment urged, 
By jutting points of rocks submerged, 

Their dripping jaws dilate. 



Yet as to Shakespeare, so to me, 
Thaleia and Melpomene 

Alternate come and go ; 
Once more flits by the merry fleet 
Of barks, as in a royal street 

The chariots to and fro. 



The full-plumed ship, the wingless car 
That, shuttle-like, to strands afar 

Bears that bright thread of gold 
Which weaves, with human sympathy, 
Between the warps of sea and sky, 

The New World to the Old. 



MONTA UK LIGHT. 

And I survive the barks that ply 
Above the wrecks and crews that lie 

Beneath the glutton wave, 
As stately cenotaphs outlive 
The mourners who have met to grieve 

Around a new-made grave. 



The cross, upon the only fane 

That decks some lone and dreary plain, 

Sees not the temples fair 
Which, stretching in a zone sublime, 
Take up, in turn, its belfry's chime 

And girt the earth with prayer : 

Nor I, adown the seaboard line, 
My giant kin, with eyes benign, 

On keys and headlands ramp ; 
Like pickets posted on the shore, 
Where quicksands lurk and breakers roar, 

Before the Atlantic camp, 



30 MONTAUR LIGHT. 

As when a father shares his gold, 
The sun, ere day s last knell is tolled, 

Confides to each a ray, 
And, like a captain, when the word 
And pass at change of guard are heard, 

He bids us watch till day, 



And scan the Orient wilderness, 
Until the Baptist star shall bless 

Our strained and weary sight, 
Above the dawn's first timid streak 
Ere blushes dye its pallid cheek 

For all the sins of night. 





HYMN TO MARS, 

INCE ages dim in deathless sleep, 
As knights in bronze sepulchral keep 
O'er tombs their silent guard, 
Thy lone watch thou, with stately pace, 
Hast measured in creation's race, 
Mars with the golden beard ! 



But brighter glows thy ruddy eye, 

When Heav'n's grand minuet brings thee nigh* 

To Earth whilom endeared : 
And, o'er thy fiery cheek, a smile 
Of happy dreams doth play the while, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 

* Written in June, i860, when Mars, in his perigee, 
had shortened his greatest distance from the earth by 
something more than one hundred and fifty millions of 
miles. 



32 HYMN TO MARS. 

Dreams of thy brief terrestrial home 
On Tiber's banks, in infant Rome — 

Where thou art still revered — 
When Rhea left the vestal shrine 
To bear thee Romulus Quirinine, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 



Creation's mighty problem solved 
And, out of chaos dark, evolved 

The star for man prepared, 
With thee there came a spirit band, 
From higher spheres, to grace the land, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 



Like birds in spring on Arctic rocks, 
Or mariners, who, from ocean's shocks, 

To some lone isle have veered, 
Cleaving ethereal realms of light, 
Ye landed on Olympus' height, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 



HYMN TO MARS, 33 

They on glad plains, in moulds of grace 
And beauty, fashioned our race. 

In Etna's caverns seared, 
The sword to Vulcan gavest thou, 
From which he forged the primal plough, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 



To nature mid abandoned long, 
In sportive dance and festive song, 

Earth's children first were reared ; 
Thy brother Gods, loved, drank, and ate, 
E'en Zeus himself threw off all state, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 



But thou didst teach the sons of toil 
To delve the brown glebe's pinguid soil 

'Neath flowery meads unspared ; 
In vernal months to plant and sow, 
To harvest when days shorter grow, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 

3 



34 



HYMN TO MARS. 



And when, years o'er, their task was done 
From earth rebounding to the sun, 

By man more loved than feared, 
Each sought his planet-home afar, 
And with them, thou, red God of War, 

Mars with the golden beard ! 




THE MAIDEN'S CHILDREN, 

SUGGESTED BY MISS STEBBIXS' STATUE OF THE LOTUS 
EATER. 

MAIDEN in her summer bloom, 
Whose heart had neither felt love's thorn 
Nor vet rejected love with scorn, 
Lamented thus her sex's doom : 



: Ah me ! whose gaze dare not engage 
In mystic tilt with belted knight, 
Nor venture, e'en in sport, to plight 
A glance to squire or beardless page ; 



3— 2 



36 THE MAIDENS CHILDREN. 

" Exposed to cold and sordid eyes, 

Like Georgian nymph, in Eastern mart, 
Who only may her hand impart 
To him whose gold her beauty buys ! 



: Whilst — like the incandescent blush, 

Which, with feigned warmth, doth tantalize 
Earth's breast congealed 'neath Arctic skies- 
Electric thrills my being flush ; 



i: As though within me gleamed a fire 
Unfed — a glowing, not a burning — 
A coming thirst, a nascent yearning, 
A subtle, nameless, vague desire. 



" Ah ! would my soul from Earth were free ; 
For, like the puzzled bird that flies 
'Twixt fowler's net and serpent's eyes, 
I dread my sex's destiny ! " 



THE MAIDEN'S CHILDREN. 37 

An angel heard the maiden's sigh. 

And gently led her spirit where, 

In dreams, she saw a temple, fair 
With chiselled forms not doomed to die \ 



The brow of Jove, serene, august — 
The breathing, almost blushing, frame 
Of Psyche, whose ethereal name 

The soul takes when it leaves the dust — 



Apollo listening to his lyre- 
Minerva softened by its strains— 
And she within whose seaborn veins 

For ever burns Love's unquenched fire— 



The Graces three— the sacred Nine, 
Whose snowy brows and vestal hearts 
Defied the boy-god's flame-tipped darts ; 

And mortals more than half divine. 



38 THE MAIDEN'S CHILDREN. 

But when the maiden's slumber broke, 
Those god-like shapes, through memory stealing 
And Art's ideal world revealing, 

To new resolves her soul awoke. 



A roofless shrine deep in the glade — 
Where leant, neglected, moss-bestained, 
The marble god who there had reigned- 

Hallowed her vow, with fervor made 



On bended knee : " The unwed Bride 
Of Art divine I'll henceforth be ; 
And rear a spotless family, 

With all a mother's love and pride. 



" My travail thus shall realize, 

Without a pang, her chastest joys ; 
In snowy marble shall my boys, 
Beneath my fostering hands arise. 



the maiden's children. 39 

" Since to their frames I may not give 
The quickening pulses of my heart, 
My soul its graces shall impart 
And in their stainless bodies live. 



" Their snowy shapes, without defect, 

Angelic beauty shall display ; 

No inborn sin of mortal clay, 

Shall envious eye in them detect." 



And, as a form embalmed in song 
Awakens to the music sweet, 
Which lulled it in its winding-sheet, 

So did the maiden's touch, ere long, 



Awake to life, with pious art, 

The graceful phantom here congealed ; 

A Phoenix, though in snow revealed, 
Out of the ashes of her heart. 




THE INCDMPLETE PICTURE, 



AST summer, in the Catskill range, 
I took a sketch, and thought it good, 
Of yonder dale — and now 'tis strange, 
The picture chimes not with my mood. 



And yet the brush's motley trace 
Repeats the landscape to my eye ; 

The hills, with grave or smiling grace 
Of chiselled profile, fret the sky. 



The knoll still shrinks beyond the lawn 
To nothingness 'twixt loftier steeps, 

Gay creepers on the cottage fawn, 
And o'er the brook the willow weeps. 



THE INCOMPLETE PICTURE, 4 1 

The unchained skiff upon the bank 

Its shoulder rests, as in a doze ; 
The oars press down the rushes dank, 

The lake with yellow sunset glows. 



Yon urchin toward the water sways 
His oxen, lightened of their yoke ; 

The air they breathe is autumn's haze, 
Or Indian summer's chilly smoke. 



Yet, like some tune that wakes no more, 
Though sweetly sung in after years, 

Emotions which it roused of yore, 
The dance's throb — the burial's tears ; 



My canvas mirror, tame and cold, 
Lacks sleeping Nature's living glow ; 

Like shrouds its shadows wrap the wold 5 
Nor with the sunset seem to grow. 



42 



THE INCOMPLETE PICTURE. 



Ah ! now I see its chief defect ; 

My hand refused, beneath the porch, 
To seat the lass with garlands decked 

Whose eyes took up day's fading torch ! 







THE TREE AND THE SHADOW, 

[HE oak still haunts the grove, 

From which poor Joe. 
Ten years ago, 
Took the leap of death for love. 

As circles in a lake. 

Which shun the stone 

By boyhood thrown, 
Recoiled the trees of the brake, 

Far from that oak of doom, 

As children fear 

The atmosphere 
Of the phantom-haunted tomb. 



44 THE TREE AND THE SHADOW. 

The woodman's loud alarm 
Drew young and old, 
Where stiff and cold 

Joe hung on that oak's right arm. 



They cut his body loose, 
But left the rope, 
That stifled hope, 

To dangle without its noose, 



And swing to every breeze, 
Scaring the herds 
And forest birds, 

To the shade of other trees. 



And children held their breath 

At work or play, 

The sunniest day, 
When they passed that tree of death. 



THE TREE AND THE SHADOW. 45 

From that gray morn till now, 

No foliage green 

Hath e'er been seen 
To sprout on that fatal bough ; 



That devil's fishing rod, 

From which long dangled 
The line that angled 

For souls in the sea-green sod, 



Ere Willie went to sea, 
Within the shade 
Of that lone glade, 

He whispered his vows to me, 



The moon was in Orion, 
When, from his breast 
The love supprest 

Leapt like an ambushed lion, 



46 THE TREE AND THE SHADOW, 

Climbing the Eastern sky, 
A cloud arose, 
Like fleecy snows 

Capping a mountain high, 



Until it decked the moon, 

As laces veil 

A maiden pale, 
Who is wed in sunny June. 



The cloud its blue way felt, 
In calm ascent, 
And soon was blent 

With Orion's radiant belt. 



Then shone the moon a queen, 
That belt her crown, 
From which drooped down 

White plumes, with diamonds between. 



THE TREE AND THE SHADOW. 47 

Beneath that cloudy height 

Her rays then set, 

And changed to jet 
The azure garments of night. 



Thridding the ghostly glade 
With clasped hands, 
(Gold ran Time's sands), 

In tender converse we strayed, 



Till rang the midnight bell 
My joy to sadness 
And his to madness, 

With its clang of long farewell ! 



Dropping her snowy veil, 
The moon betrayed 
Within the glade 

Its skeletons grim and pale. 



48 THE TREE AND THE SHADOW. 

And as I homeward started, 
I turned my face 
To see the place 

Where Willie and I had parted. 



Beneath the haunted tree, 
The oak of blood, 
My Willie stood ; 

And it froze my heart to see 



His shadow on the sward, 

Hanging below 

The fatal bough, 
At the end of that murderous cord ! 




FRUITION, 

[JUNE.] 

IE thou there, black pack of care 
I have carried full months nine ! 
Let me seek the greenwood fair 
While the summer's glory's mine. 

Far from me the miser's lot — 
Beadle of a golden shrine— 

Whilst, by nature's toil begot, 
All the summer's wealth is mine. 



In the masquerade of flowers 
Let the Cedar, Larch and Pine 

Mourn stern winter's vanished towers, 
So the summer's joy be mine. 



50 FRUITION, 

Ninety times the sun shall rise 
Earlier from his couch of brine, 

And shall linger in the skies 

Whilst the summer's blis& is mine. 



By the stream, as when a child 

Shrinking from the snake-like vine, 

I will wander, thrush-beguiled, 
While the summer's glory's mine. 



Sunbeams jewelling the showers 
Which the knotted clouds untwine, 

Over thirsty fields and bowers, 
Are the summer's gems and mine, 



Strolling through its paths of bliss 
Skirted by the jessamine, 

I will sing and dance and kiss 
While the summer's glory's mine ; 






FRUIT 10 X. 



5 1 



Till the grapes the robins spare 
Shall redeem their pledge in wine. 

Let me glean the treasures rare 
Of the summer's sparkling mine, 




4—2 




LEAVES AND STARS, 

[SEPTEMBER.] 

;ESTERDAY, when Autumn's fire 
Flushed the Maple and the Briar 
Till they crimsoned as a maid 
Who her love hath just betrayed, 
Disappeared my summer dream, 
Like the picture in a stream 
Which the wanton breezes chase 
From the liquid mirror's face. 



Was each reddening leaf the ghost 
Of a precious moment lost ? 
Else why should the Woodland's glow 
Thrill me with such sense of woe, 



LEAVES AXD STARS. 

That from Summer's dying bed, 
Like a frightened boy I fled, 
Hastening to the changeless town 
With its stony smile and frown ? 

Vain the coward hope ! For night 
Brought a monitor in sight 
Sterner than those dying leaves, 
Sadder than September's sheaves. 
Lo ! Orion stalks between 
Aldebaran and the sheen 
Sparkling Sirius, in disdain, 
Sheds upon the Warrior's train. 

Warrior — Hunter ! Like a bird 
Serpent-charmed, thy blazing sword 
Holds me as it were the blade 
O'er a prisoned monarch swayed. 
Sword of menace ! Blade of fear 
Shearing from my life a year ! 
Shall I see thee gleam again 
O'er another twelvemonth slain ? 



OCTOBER LAY, 



I. — N ATURE, 








JTORMY day of mid October ! 
Nature sees thy blasts disrobe her 

Forests of their charms ; 
Sees, like sparks from forges flying, 
Fall the leaves of Summer dying 

In gray Autumn's arms. 



As a mother, to her tender 
Babes, her raiment doth surrender 

In the wintry hours ; 
Busy in the tempest's watches, 
With a quilt of many patches, 

Covereth she the flowers. 



OCTOBER LAY. 55 



As escape the winged legions 
Of the air, from Arctic regions, 

Pale with sunless cold : 
Gales in search of tropic fires 
Rushing, wake the thousand lyres 

Of the Druid wold. 



Green, midst Autumn's fading splendour. 
Swing the lonely willow's tender 

Fringes, o'er the brook ; 
As though, fresh from Ocean's portal, 
Some fair Nereid immortal 

There her ringlets shook. 



Circling zephyrs, with caresses, 
Gently sway those drooping tresses 

Sheltered by the grove ; 
Whilst its giant tree-tops, braving 
Ruder blasts, are madly waving 

In the air above. 



56 OCTOBER LAY. 



II.— Man. 




IJTORMY day of mid October ! 
I, poor drunkard, waxing sober. 

Feel thy pelting rain, 
Fierce as shot, my cheeks assailing, 
Driven by the blast whose wailing 

Heralds Winter's reign. 



As I plod with weary measure, 
Conscience tolls the knell of pleasure ; 

Oh ! the Summer hours ! 
Gone are now their joys enchanting, 
Leaving only phantoms, haunting 

Memory's leafless bowers. 



On the leaves the wayside strewing, 
I, in each a moment rueing, 
Look with tearful eyes ; 



OCTOBER LAY. 57 

Look, as were they corpses serried 
On a battle-field, ere buried 
Never more to rise. 

Blows the north-wind sharp and biting, 
Scatters dreams of bliss inviting, 

Rain-drops burn like fire, 
And the fire my breast tormenting, 
Unextinguished, unrelenting, 

Withers all desire. 

Though, like spray from storm-lashed surges, 
Whip the forest's leaves thy scourges, 

Fearful Hurricane ! 
Leaflets, erst Spring's welcome bringing, 
To the willow fondly clinging, 

Bright as hope remain. 





SONG OF THE WREN, 

HE summer's joyous warblers away 
Have flown from Novembers frown, 



And, midst the palsied woodland's decay, 
I reign on my perch of hemlock spray, 
A monarch without a crown. 

In early spring came the Oriole, 
To foster her orange brood, 
Ere crept the rattlesnake from his hole 
Or the dormant Owl his stern patrol 
Resumed, in the tropic wood. 

The Throstle brown and the Catbird gray, 

With the timid Redbreast came, 
And the Blackbird and the Bobolink gay, 
With answering notes took up the lay 
Of the Groesbeck's throat of flame. 



SONG OF THE WREN. 59 

Out of last year's leaves and grasses sere 

And the gray rock's mossy beard, 
In tufts, or copses shrouding the mere, 
Or 'neath the Catalpa's flapping ear, 

Their nests they merrily reared. 

While lasted the spring-tide's quickening hours, 

Their carols the forest thrilled, 
They summoned the bee to opening flowers 
When honey, from April's balmy showers, 

The sun in their cups distilled. 

To quiet their nestlings' plaintive cry 

Like flashes they clave the air, 
Now chasing the golden dragon-fly, 
Now preying upon the insect fry 

Or the spider in his lair. 

Like guests who flit from a summer /#<?, 

Aweary of dance and play, 
Ere the motley fireworks scintillate, 
In starry pennons, before the gate 

Of night, and awake the day ; 



60 SONG OF THE WREN. 

They fled when the hoar frost first congealed 

On the clover's flower-reft blade, 
And Autumn her tawny dyes revealed, 
In the scattered spoils by road and field 
Of the Summer's masquerade. 

They fled as worldly parasites fly 
From the prodigal's dying bed, 

And the only mourner left am I 

To witness the funeral pageantry 
Of Nature burying her dead. 

The squirrel sleeps in the hollow tree 

Or munches his winter store, 
The partridge crops fat berries in glee, 
The quail roams gleaning the stubble free, 

And the meadow-lark the moor. 

When spread the Oak his pall o'er the flowers, 

The silver Maple grew pale, 
And a crimson flushed the ivied bowers 
Where 'neath the Dogwood, in fervid hours, 

Had blossomed the Orchis frail. 



SONG OF THE WREN. 6 1 

The Hickory's green to gold then turned, 

Yet clave to the fruitful bough, 
While the Catbriar, as a miser spurned 
In death, was stripped of its leaves, which burned 

Like coals in the muddy slough. 

The Gum's leaves will with the rainbow vie 

Till from the Heavens, o'ercast 
With frowns no longer checked by the eye 
Of the sun, rebellious snows shall fly 

On the ruthless Arctic blast. 

But his realms their absent Lord again, 

In Spring, shall awake from sleep, 
And my sisters will cheer their little Wren 
With newest songs from the grove and glen, 

Where the mocking-birds vigil keep. 



TO JULIA ROM AN A HOWE. 



FALCONRY, 



Sorcerer. 



" |pSi| F > t0 avert > O king, 

* * $£& The doom of death at morn, 
My voice had summoned thee, 

I should deserve thy scorn. 



" To save my worthless life 

These lips shall frame no prayer 
Nor ask a boon of thee ; 
But if thy daughter fair, 



FALCONRY. 63 



" What time the noose shall bind 
My throat at break of day, 
Will smile upon me from 
Yon lattice o'er the way \ 



: And round her snowy neck 

The lilac sash will wear 
Which girt her waist that eve 
My hand was torn from there : 



" And let its waving bands, 
Which fell below her knee, 
Appear to hold her looped 
As will the halter me : 



"And last — if, when I drop, 

Her head shall sink beneath 
The casement-sill, as though 
Resolved to share my death, 



64 FALCONRY. 

" Pledge this, and ask what boon 
A wizard may impart — 
A spark to fire thy veins, 
A hoard to freeze thy heart." 

King. 
" All this and more I grant — 
Thy life and her white hand, 
The sceptre and the crown 
By which I rule the land, 

" Whereof thou shalt be king, 
And I will go my ways, 
So thou'lt impart the spell 
Of never-ending days." 

Sorcerer. 

" The kneeling boor, whose shoulder 
Is smitten by thy sword, 
Arises, by the spell 

Of kingly words — a lord. 






FALCONRY. 65 



But whom my wand shall touch, 
Be high or low his birth, 

My whispered charm can make 
The richest of the earth. 



" The Shibboleth of life 

Would lose my soul, if told, 
For what I ask, be thine 

The charm of endless gold." 

King. 

" So thou wilt prove that spell 
Upon the chains that hold 
Thy body, and transmute 
Their iron into gold ; 



" My daughter from yon lattice 
Shall smile on thee, nor falter 
When, in the' morn, the hangman 
Shall loop thee with the halter ; 



5 



66 FALCONRY. 

" The lilac sash she wore, 

The night I found thy grasp 
Around her in the garden, 
Her snowy neck shall clasp ; 



" And on the lattice-bow 
Its waving ends I'll tie, 
That she may seem to thee 
Like thee about to die ; 



" And when beneath thy feet 
The fatal bolt is sped, 
I swear that she shall bend, 
Saluting thee, her head." 

Sorcerer. 

" Now cross yon hazel wand 
Upon thy royal sword, 
And swear by Him who died 
That thou wilt keep thy word, 



FALCONRY. 67 



" 'Tis well — dismiss these slaves, 
Now take the hazel wand : 
The serpent-head in thine, 
The tail in my right hand. 



" Thine ear bring close and listen, 
And after me recite 
The measured incantation, 
And grasp the hazel tight. 



" Nay, open not thine eyes 
So wide, as in dismay ; 
No coward will the Gnome 
Who guards the mine obey. 



" The Sprite must know a master 
Or else the master he : 
The second rune is faster ; 
Repeat it after me. 



5—2 



68 FALCONRY. 

" Thy face is pale, O monarch ! 
And all alive thy hair. 
Pause not ! or of the malice 
Of Gnome and Sprite beware. 



" Tis said — now touch my chains, 
Ha ! they grow yellow straight, 
And from my wrists I feel 

Them hang with heavier weight. 



"Now get the charm by rote ; 
A word misplaced rebounds 
As from a rock the ball 

Which him who shot it wounds. 



" Ah, so ! these chains thou fain 
Wouldst in the furnace try ? 
Exchange them — and thou'lt find 
Their gold no jugglery.'' 



FALCONRY. 69 



At dawn, beneath the gibbet, 
Serene the wizard stood ; 

And saw within the lattice 
The princess he had wooed. 



Around her neck the sash 
As round his throat the cord ■ 

Then knew he that the king 
Had kept his royal word. 



For, by its fastened ends, 
The lilac noose was hung 

As from the gallows-tree 

The rope, that held him, swung. 



And. when their glances met, 

Upon her lip and eye 
He saw a radiant smile, 

And said — " Now let me die." 



JO FALCONRY. 

And when the trap was sprung 
The princess dipped her head ; 

But when they came to raise her, 
They found her spirit fled ; 



And, 'twixt those corpses twain, 
They saw a falcon bear 

Aloft, with clenche'd talons, 
A white dove through the air. 




THE POET'S ACRE, 

OWN the mountain as I wandered, 
And upon the landscape pondered, 
Where, as in a net, 
Lordly hedge and stately railing 
With the farmer's wooden pailing 
Intersecting met, 



Compassing the field of azure 
Of the lake no rigid measure 

Mapped unequally, 
I bethought me, " Such division 
Of the plain is a derision ;" 

When my roving eye 



72 THE POET'S ACRE. 

Rested on the sexton's barrow 
Shrinking near the portal narrow 

Of the churchyard green, 
Where fill prince and peasant places 
Equal as the chessboard's spaces, 

Hold they pawn or queen. 



Still the zig-zag path descending, 
Came I to a painter blending, 

On a tinier scale, 
Under April's sunshine merry, 
Meadow, lake and cemetery 

Sparkling in the vale. 



And, with passionate expansion, 
Free from envy, I the mansion 

And the cot surveyed, 
Coveting nor manor pleasant 
Nor the patches which the peasant 

Vexed with hoe and spade. 



THE POETS ACRE. 75 

Happy, though without an acre. 
While supplies the paper-maker 

Sod like this fair page 
Into which, at Fancy's hours. 
I transplant the wayside flowers 

Of my pilgrimage. 






TO ALFRED TENNYSON, 



CURATE, in a lonely hamlet preaching, 

Nor heard beyond 
Until with rumours of his saintly teaching 

Echoes respond, 
And then into a broader field translated 

With ampler fold, 
As soldiers are to higher grades elated 

For actions bold — 
Cries, when he hears assembled hundreds voicing 

Responsive prayer, 
Hosanna ! in yet bolder strains rejoicing 

The distant air. 



TO ALFRED TENNYSON. 7$ 

So thou, in humbler days, didst hymn a wailing 

For Claribel, 
Which on the outer world like unavailing 

Entreaty fell ; 
But friends around thee shared thy tuneful weeping, 

And treasured long 
The memory of that hapless maiden sleeping 

Within thy song. 
I see thee now in Art's great temple throning, 

A Hierophant, 
And hear glad voices from far peaks entoning 

Thy larger chaunt. 




EPIMENIDES, 




ON hamlet, 'twixt the river-bank 

And swelling slopes that grow to hills, 
Now rings with iron clang and clank ; 

The restless voice of labour thrills 
Its peace. On Autumn's early snow, 

The wayward cinder-woven wreaths 
The wind's wild flickering currents show. 

The fevered forge for ever breathes 
From yon tall chimneys grim and stark, 

Whose dial-shadows, earthward thrown, 
The sun can never see, nor mark 

Their mystic march betray his own. 



EPIMENIDES. ' 77 

There, though now 'tis sad November, 
Of my spring-time I remember 
How the chimes, at early morn, 
Sang, " Another day is born." 



" Lasses, quick ! your kirtles don, 
Kneeling, ask His benison ; 
Up, lads, up ! The day hath broke, 
Waits the patient steer his yoke !" 



From the housewife's tidy table 
Strode the ploughman to the stable, 
Stalked the sower to the field, 
Casting broad for Autumn's yield. 



Oh ! those ancient days were fair, 
Heralded by chime and prayer ; 
God, in sky, field, wold, and air, 
Light and fragrance everywhere, 



7% EP1MENIDES. 

When the sun, his heavenly dome. 
Like some saintly pilgrim, clomb 
Till, in the mid-zenith blue, 
Resting, half his labor through, 
Shone he, poised on golden wings 
As the lark his matin sings \ 
Noon, from the old village spire, 
Rang as rings the tinkling quire, 
When the mystic Elevation 
Thrills the kneeling congregation ; 
From that bright aerial dwelling 
Every clang to glory welling, 
Glory, full of grace to all, 
In the field and in the hall, 
Full of peace, and full of grace \ 
Unto all in every place ! 



I forbear the urchin's horn, 
Requiem of the day half-worn. 
" lie missa est." God's rest 
Attend ye all, for all are blest. 



EPIMENIDES. 79 



I forbear the vesper song, 
Doubly sweet, when all day long 
One has bravely paid the vow, 
" Thou shalt live by sweat of brow." 



And the dance upon the green, 
Circling round fair May's new Queen, 
Rustic sighs and rustic bliss, 
Freshly-wedded happiness. 

Faded now the spring's dear flowers. 
Faded, too, those spring-tide hours ! 
Sweet as childhood's sleep the times 
When I heard those village chimes : 

II. 

See ! the noon's consummate fire 
Glows above a city's spire, 
Xoon that once warmed field and fell, 
Burns o'er street and citadel ! 



Bo EPIMENIDES. 

But no chime from belfry holy 
Calls to prayer the high and lowly ; 
And no herdsman's mellow note 
Preaches peace to tower and cot ; 



But, like fierce alarms of fire, 
Labor peals her tocsin dire, 
And, from factory-prisons tall, 
Tramp, as to a funeral, 



Women, sad with trailing paces, 
Children, wan with joyless faces, 
Men, with toiling grim and chill, 
Shivering at the whistle shrill. 



Cheerless noontide ! whilom blest, 
With thy boon of shade and rest, 
Bailiff now of want and fear, 
In gray garrets, where men hear 



EPIMENIDES. 8 1 



Imperious scream, 

The strident steam, 
Whoop ! whoop ! whoop ! whoop ! 

No play to-day ! 

Away ! obey ! 
March ye to the workshop dreary. 
Well or ailing, fresh or weary. 



III. 

In yon forest green, 
Where the hunt was seen, 
Following the hound 
O'er the scented ground, 
Or the Falcon's flight 
At the Heron white, 
Horns no more awake 
Echoes in the brake. 
Startled, the timid trees 
Shake with the rushing breeze. 



82 EPIMENIDES. 

When speeds the dragon by, 
Yelling his warning cry : 
" Tramp ! tramp ! on, on, away, 
Tramp ! tramp ! by night and day, 
Throb ! throb ! black heart ! burn, burn ! 
Fill ! fill ! thy funeral urn ! 
Fly all ! my soul is fire ! 

Fly all ! my wrath is death ! 
My speed's intense desire 

Makes lightnings of my breath ! " 



Dread Genie of that mystic Lamp, 
Through centuries by sages trimmed 

In turret lone and cavern damp, 

Earth's vestal light of thought undimmed ! 



Lamp, fed by many a martyr's life, 

How purple tyrants from thy flame 
Have fallen, shrivelled in their strife, 
With angry wings, to quench its gleam ! 



EPIMENIDES. 83 

Dread Genie ! to that Lamp subdued, 
Whether, on earth, the captive train, 

Or winge'd ark, through tempest rude, 
Thou waftest swiftly o'er the main, 



Or, like old Rhcetus chained below 

The Cyclop's forge, thy struggles speed 

The patient lathe, the hammer's blow, 
And all the wheels of labor feed : 



Man's slave ! and yet with wary eye 
He watcheth thee as, in his cage, 

The master's magnet, holds in sway 
The desert-king's electric rage. 



Man's creature ! yet his tyrant too ! 

Relentless iron Frankenstein ! 
How hard the doom that bids him woo — 

And win those furnace-lips of thine ! 

6—2 



84 EP1MENIDES. 

No compact, on enchanted ground, 

In midnight glen blood-sealed and signed, 

With closer chains the soul e'er bound 
Than thine, dread rival of the Wind ! 



For this, at least, the fiend of old, 
In ransom, to his vassals gave 

The flush of wine, the blaze of gold ; 
They reeled in rapture to the grave 



But thou, insatiate ! cloud and gloom, 
The fast, the vigil, and the scorn 

Of careless crowds, prepare the tomb 
Of sages in thy service worn ; 



Nor though a thousand paeans rise 
Above their wasting dust — to me, 

Shall summer thoughts and summer skies 
Seem wisely lost, for fame and thee. 



EPIMENIDES. 85 

To me, the mossy bank that charms. 

With flowers, the mirror floating by, 
And priestly elms, that bend their arms 

In benediction, where I lie, 



These still remain. My heart can find 
Far off, but not too far from men, 

Some still retreat for heart and mind, 
Some wind-swept silence of a glen. 



There, when the gales exultant rush 

From cloud-capped peaks to genial plains, 

Each murmuring tree, each whispering bush, 
Shall wake to soft iEolian strains. 



To them my gorge shall still be free ; 

But thou, mailed champion of the plain ! 
My panoply of rock, shall see 

Thy fiery charge, renewed in vain ! 



86 EPIMENIDES. 

There, pausing on the soft descent 

Of slopes where rest the pine and birch, 

The shepherd's hut and hunter's tent 
Shall nestle near the Alpine church ; 



Whose housewife bell, when day is gone, 
With silver metes the pall of night, 

And, when the stars have left their throne, 
Marks day's brocade with measure bright. 



And when the goatherd's children stray 
Down the long hill to my lone nook, 

Their shouts shall win me to their play, 
To wander with them by the brook ;* 



There shall our hands the osier weave, 
And plait the flowers in garlands bright, 

With talk and laugh, till fostering eve 
Recalls them to their cottage height. 



EPIMENIDES. §7 

When frost and winter drive the herds 
To towns, where men and herds are sold, 

They'll leave me with the winter birds, 
Star-watched, within my sacred fold : 



And when the yule-log lights the hearth, 
The peasant groups shall chat of me, 

And kindly wish me with the mirth 
Around their humble Christmas-tree. 



And one shall whisper to his friend 
New marvels of the mystic glen, 

And grieve for me self-doomed to end 
My graybeard days afar from men. 




WAKING DREAM, 

jjESTWARD gazing through my window, Venus 
shone ; 



Lit the room where I had all night dreamed alone ; 
Woke her lustrous eye the slumbering depths of mine, 
Kindling sparks among the ashes of lang-syne, 
Vainly strove the dawn's first glories through the 

gloom : 
Like my heart, the lonely chamber looked a tomb 
Where sweet ghosts, in sad procession, seemed to flow 
Past my bed, become a bier, and there bestow 
Griefs last kiss upon my brow. — Each tender glance 
Thrilled my soul with joy and pain ; as in a trance 
Shrank within my palsied lips all utterance. 



WAKING DREAM. 

Fading in the dawn the Morn-Star disappears, 
And dispels the tender throng, but not my tears ; 
For I wake with sorrowing heart and aching head, 
Wake to find sweet Venus vanished and Love dead. 




m 



ORCHARD FANTASIA, 

EHOLD yon hale old apple-tree, 

In its wrinked skin with mosses bound, 



Yield to the south wind's sportive glee 
The blossoms it scatters recklessly, 
Like snowflakes, over the ground. 



Like snow, in a night they will disappear, 
Absorbed by the yearning earth ; 

But the fruits it hath borne for many a year, 

The joy of urchins far and near, 
That tree shall again bring forth. 



ORCHARD FANTASIA. 9 1 

And as those blossoms sown by the wind 

Leave germing fruits on the bounteous tree. 
So gentle words and charities kind, 
Though man prove thankless, leave behind 
Sweet germs for the hoards of memory. 



And when deathward sighs the bosom heaves. 

Though the kindly deeds we have done on earth 
Should seem to us but as withered leaves, 
While our sins, like serpents, in living sheaves 

Daunt the soul on the verge of its second birth : 



The blossoms shall flower in Heaven again, 

Where no wild breeze shall waft them away ; 
And the clang of the blow that breaks our chain 
Shall drive the emblems of sin and pain, 
The serpents, back to their dens of clay. 








GIVE ME JOY, 

HEN age its wrinkles and its snows 
Had laid on Talma's cheek and brow, 

'Tis said he made the mournful vow, 
"No friend shall see my eyes unclose." 

For every form he looked upon 

Revealed a ghastly skeleton ! 
This earth was bright when first, a toy, 

Life in my youthful hands was placed, 

But now its waters have no taste — 
Bring me the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! 



Like Talma, in the Present dim 
And Future dark, I see abound, 
In silvery age and youth just crowned 

With beauty's wreath, but spectres grim. 



GIVE ME JOY. 93 

E'en Fortune's ingots lost and won 

Are watched by Care, the skeleton ; 
Nay, power, wealth, and pleasure cloy, 

Tis all the same sad change of tone 

From smile to tear, from laugh to groan, 
Bring me the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! 

Though youth has fled, affections still 
With steady glow my heart may cheer : 
Come hither, wife and children dear ! 

Come, ere the cup again I fill, 

Come, ere each loved shape looked upon 
Shall seem to hide a skeleton. 

What ! was thy smile but a decoy ? 
And ye to whom I've given breath ! 
Do ye already wait my death ? 

Quick ! quick ! The wine-cup ! Give me joy ! 

Begone, ye vipers whom I've nursed, 

And cherished with my heart's best blood : 
Beldame, avaunt ! with all thy brood 

And be ye all like me accurst ! 



94 GIVE ME yOV, 

Thank Heaven, thy witching beauty's gone 

And leaves thee but a skeleton ! 
Come, friend beloved ! Thou since a boy 

My more than brother ! Thou'lt not fail ! 

Away, thou death's-head grim and pale ! 
Fill, fill the wine-cup ! Give me joy ! 

Thou'st changed the wine ; my throat it burns, 

'Tis bitter as ingratitude ! 

What ! say'st thou from the grape 'twas brewed ? 
Within my lips to gall it turns ! 

Bring me the glass ! O Death ! thou'st won ! 

I see myself a skeleton ! 
And that weird shape was once a boy, 

To whom each scene below shone fair ? 

God ! How its eyeless sockets stare ! 
Is there no cup will give me joy t 

No ! not the bowl ! The chalice bring, 

Exhaustless with the Paschal blood 

That purified sin's sable flood, 
And still flows from Thee ! thorn-crowned King ! 



GIVE ME JOY. 



95 



In whom mine eyes behold alone 

A Saviour, not a skeleton ! 
Oh ! touch the hearts of wife and boy. 

And friend, with quivering grace divine. 

Thou wilt ! Then let me life resign, 
Sipping Thy last cup's heavenly joy ! 





TO LEONARD WOODS. 



Z I S K A. 




| HEN first my infant eyes took in the glory 
Of this fair earth, 
Ere on them fell the shadow of the story 

Of mortal birth, 
The blessed light above seemed but one fusion 

Of many a sun, 
And closing, they imprisoned the illusion 
That Heaven was won. 



When I looked forth again, God's bright creation 
Revealed its forms 



ZISKA. 97 

Beneath the orb which every constellation 

Illumes and warms. 
I then discovered 'mid the heavenly spaces 

Vast depths of blue, 
And on the earth the landscape's myriad graces, 

Of varied hue. 



Unconscious that, as cleared the golden vision, 

It darker grew, 
I revelled in green fields and groves Elysian 

With joys all new. 
The sun seemed sent to me alone for reading 

Nature's great book, 
O'er which I pored wherever fancy, leading, 

My footsteps took. 

Oh ! then, Aladdin-like, I gathered treasures 

On golden stems ; 
First fruits and flowers, then clutched at empty- 
pleasures, 

As precious gems. 

7 



I 



98 ZISKA. 

But soon these luresome objects lost their shimmer, 

As in a ball, 
When waxlights wane, the waltzer's eyes flit dimmer 

Around the hall. 

To childhood's lively joys, succeeded sorrows 

Poignant and stern, 
As he who silver from a miser borrows 

Gold must return. 
For manhood hath no sportive recreations 

Like schoolboy plays ; 
No anguish keener than when, in vacations, 

Come rainy days. 

And soon my soul began its second training, 

With new-born zest ; 
I thought to spend one half of life explaining 

What meant the rest : 
And found the problem solved and the equation, 

Like some tall peak 
Attained, which reaches but the adumbration 

Of what you seek. 



ZISKA. 99 

And when, with every sense alive to Natuie, 

By day and night, 
Familiarly I knew her every feature 

Shaded and bright ; 
With adolescence came an empty craving 

For the unknown \ 
As thinks the spendthrift butterfly of saving 

When summer's gone. 

And then, the sad reflection realizing — 

How brief is life — 
Behold the soul against the senses rising 

In bitter strife. 
Existence, like the fleeting year, had seasons, 

And, in the end — 
I could not through its gloom divine the reasons — 

Must graveward tend. 

Through misty tears, a God-like face and lowly 

In rainbows beamed, 
Around Whose bleeding brow a radiance holy. 

Upshooting, gleamed. 

7—2 



I 



IOO ZISKA. 

But though, toward earth, big drops of blood still 
rolling, 

Did lingering fall, 
He said with tender voice, His pain controlling, 

"I died for ail" 

Since from His bow-shaped lips, like golden arrows 

Those words did speed, 
No more my heart an endless craving harrows 

With hunger's need. 
Already, when I lift my eyes to heaven, 

I see but light, 
And scenes once fair below, from morn to even, 

Are dark as night. 




METEMPSYCHOSIS, 

| HE God, the Hero, and the Sage, 

Nor sceptre, sword, nor myrtle crown, 
Nor e'en a drop have handed down 
Of bubbling blood to this our age, 

Caught in the marble or the brass, 
They smile or frown their joy or grief, 
From statue, coin, or bas-relief, 

Which, though in fashion they surpass 



The chiselled thoughts of modern days, 
Bring to our eyes but traits of men, 
Who, like ourselves, on earth have been 

The shrines of Life's ephemeral blaze. 



I 



1 02 METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

But deeds and words embalmed in song, 
In after ages — like the seed 
From royal mummies drawn to feed 

The tribes which Egypt's river throng — 



Dilate fresh hearts and sublimate 

The lowliest blood with flames heroic, 
And fortify with valor stoic 

The weak against the storms of fate. 

Yes ! as the shivered chord's complaint 
Floats onward through the murmuring air, 
Until some unison as fair 

Responds unto its whisper faint, 



So, when it severs earth's last thread, 
The soul pursues its journeying, 
And swells, on fleet and tireless wing, 

The shadowy army of the dead ; J 



METEMPSYCHOSIS. 103 

Until it chance a kindred chord, 

Within some brother's sleeping heart, 
To wake, and its own life impart, 

To sage's lips or warrior's sword. 



Napoleon fought with Caesar's blade, 
Dante was god-like Homer's son, 
Timoleon prompted Washington, 

And Paul stout Luther's fierce crusade. 



Nor in such mighty souls alone 

Do kindred spirits breathe their fire ; 
The humblest heart's untutored lyre 

From shadowy voices takes its tone. 



Until they sound, bend every string 
Thy hand can grasp, with zealous care ! 
Though from thy lyre but hoarse despair, 

Fate's ruthless sweep at first should wring. 



I 



104 METEMPSYCHOSIS, 

Strain on ! until thy spirit's Sire 
Awake that chord of happier fate 
Whose jubilance shall modulate 

Thy woe to joy's celestial quire. 




TO MY DAUGHTER, MRS. MARGARET 
ASTOR CHANLER. 




THE WISE MAIDEN, 

Master. 

JRITHEE, why forever sweeping, 
Maiden, this poor room ? 
Ever stirring, never sleeping, 
Seems thy restless broom, 



Prithee, why forever praying, 
Those pure lips within ? — 

Art, I fear, too dearly paying 
For but fancied sin. 






Io6 THE WISE MAIDEN. 

Maid. 

Though I'm ever sweeping, master, 
Did my zeal grow slack, 

Than it disappeareth faster 
Would the dust come back : 



And my praying is but sweeping 
This poor sinful breast, 

Into which fresh dust is creeping, 
When from prayer I rest. 



Master. 

Never does my eye remember, 

Maiden, to have seen, 
When thy care hath swept my chamber, 

Speck of dust within. 



THE WISE MAIDEN. 



107 



Maid. 
May the angel to my sweeping 

Praise like this impart, 
Who, his master's mansions keeping, 
Comes to search my heart. 





THE OLD ROPE, 



ATHER ! what is this old rope ?" 
Boy ! 'Twas once our vessel's hope 
When the billows rose in rage her decks to whelm. 
In that wild September gale, 
Which had rent our every sail, 
With that bit of rope I lashed down her helm. 



Had its strands then given way, 
We had been the fishes' prey, 

And their banquet in the sea's deep caves ; 
But I never lost my grip 
Of that rope which held the ship 

Till the winds had made peace with the waves. 



THE OLD ROPE. 1 09 

How the mariner exults. 

When he feels the throbbing pulse 

Of the ocean lashed to fever by the gale. 
And his hand directs the course 
Of his vessel, like a horse 

Madly tearing over hill and over dale. 

Ah ! the boldest charioteer 
Were beside himself with fear. 

If a steed in his teeth the bit should take. 
Not on solid hill or plain. 
But across the slippery main. 

Where your path writhes beneath you like a snake. 

There be those that gather nests 
Down the Orkneys' sea-girt crests, 

"Who are lowered by a rope like this. 
And who. when their scrips are full. 
Give the signal-cords a pull. 

To be hoisted up out of the abyss. 



IIO THE OLD ROPE. 

Yet the boldest ne'er dissemble 

How much now and then they tremble, 

When they feel their lives hang on such a bight, 
Though those fowlers, when they climb, 
Risk but one life at a time, 

While this rope held a score of us that night. 

But no feeble hand of man 
Thus from parting kept its span, 

And our vessel from the trough of the sea ; 
It was God who held it there, 
For I breathed a breath of prayer, 

Like the fishers on the lake of Galilee. 



When I'm summoned by the Lord, 
Round my coffin let this cord 

Drop me like a fowler seeking for a nest ; 
And another boon I crave 
Is that by me, in the grave, 

This trusty old friend of mine shall rest. 



THE OLD ROPE. Ill 

Dare an unbeliever say 

That, on Resurrection clay. 

It may not serve to raise me from the grave ? 
Like the fowler with his scrip. 
Or our storm-imperilled ship. 

Which its strands from destruction helped to save ? 




THE TWO MIRRORS, 




SKIPPING urchin, gay and fair, 
With eyes like sapphires beaming, 
Pranced up my path, his flaxen hair 
In tangled ringlets streaming ; 
And, in his dimpled grace, 
Dull memory sought to trace 
An image of the face 
That shone with kindred joy 
When I too was a boy ; 
But Time held off the glass so far, 
I only saw the Evening Star, 

And, by its twinkling glimmer, read 
On my own face, as on a stone 
With moss and grave-grass overgrown, 
The legend — " Here thy youth lies dead." 



THE TWO MIRRORS. 113 

The boy danced by, and I o'ertook 
A graybeard's footsteps trembling ■ 

His palsied hand and vacant look 
No ills of age dissembling, 

Beyond ! a churchyard drear — 
'Neath skies that dropped a tear 
Upon a freighted bier — 

Said to my saddened eye, 
" Soon, thou too, here shalt lie ;" 

For Time now held the glass so near 

That I could share the miser's fear, 

Who thinks how soon his grated door 

Must yield its silver plate, to score 

His name upon the coffined cell 

Where Rich and Poor at last must dwell. 



> 






THE HEBREWfALPHABET, 



OME, my little Hebrew lad, 
On thy task look not so sad. 



Only learn it, and thou'lt feel 
Writing is in prayer to kneel ; 
Writing, in His sacred tongue, 
Words His holy prophets sung ; 
Writing out the law bequeathed 
Unto Moses, when He breathed, 
Near the burning bush, the Word 
Then as now, " I am the Lord." 
First we'll learn to spell the name 
Sinai heard in clouds and flame. 
Write the Aleph — every sign 
Let thy pen with love design. 



THE HEBREW ALBHABET. 1 1 5 

Aleph is bright Eden's token, 
Ere our race by sin was broken. 
Daleth follows in the spell 
Loved in Heaven, feared in Hell 
Aleph, Daleth, then again 
Aleph taketh up the train. 
Aleph, Daleth, Aleph now 
On our bended knees we bow, 
Ere unto the Holy Rune 
We append the closing Nun. 
Adon Adon, clap your hands 
Hills ! while joy elates the lands \ 
Aleph add, and, with a Yod, 
Tremble at the name of God ! 
God with whom none others vie, 
God of Israel ! Adonai. 



tS^ 



6—2 



THE OLD TEACHER 



TIMOR DOMINI INCIPIUM SAPIENTIAE. 




NCOUNTERING last week upon the street 
A gray and year-bent man, 
Whose eye lit up, with salutation sweet, 
His features pinched and wan— 
" Your pardon, sir," — said I, — "Where have we met ?" 
Then he — " 'Twas I who taught you your alphabet." 



I pressed his trembling hand and took him home ; 

Infirm he was and poor, 
Threadbare his coat as some black-letter tome 

Marked " sixpence," in a store. 
A worn epitome of weary strife 
With cares that cloud too oft a blameless life. 



THE OLD TEACHER. II J 

For years on thankless labor's treadmill spent — 

Each one the former's twin — 
His only prop in age's steep descent 

Was now a pension thin. 
Xor could the wealth of Harpagon but gild. 
Xot sweeten, his poor cup with sorrows filled. 



His wife, long gathered to the tomb, had left 

A helpless family ; 
My fancy pictured him, of her bereft, 

With their poor children three, 
Whose names he scarcely knew, till then engrossed 
In teaching syntax to his boyish host. 



The eldest son u went early to the bad " — 

The second to the sea, 
And with his daughter and her children sad 

He shared his penury ; 
His pittance eked an ailing husband's gains, 
His mind's full stores enriched their children's brains, 



Il8 THE OLD TEACHER. 

The Lapp consumes his endless summer day 

In gathering a store 
Of food, against the long and sable sway 

Of winter's icy war. 
But each day for that stricken household drear, 
Was, though in miniature, an Arctic year. 



A cup of water may the pilgrim bless, 

Though on his way to die 
Near that lone tomb, within the wilderness, 

Where his forefathers lie ; 
And on the old man's heart, with tender zeal, 
I poured the balm that soothes, but cannot heal. 



Nay, more — ere many days, my memory traced 
Some ancient schoolmates, still 

Within this vale of tears, whose youth had graced 
His Greek and Latin drill. 

The poorer ones each gave a cheerful mite ; 

The richer mostly but a shrug polite. 



THE OLD TEACHER. 119 

'Tis not my slender kindness to display 
By unthrift far too scant, 

Nor to inspire your pity, prompts this lay, 

Oft sung in nobler chaunt. 
Distress abounds ; but this exemplar taught 
A lesson with a solemn meaning fraught. 



It set me pondering how through childhood's vales, 

Our steps are swayed by fear ; 
We dread the nursery's hobgoblin tales, 

A father's glance severe ; 
Until the climax of dismay we own 
Before the schoolmaster upon his throne. 



How changed our lots to-day ! His for the worse- 
Mine by no misery bent- 
Smaller than his my share of Adam's curse, 

Greater my discontent. 
I felt rebuked, to see so meek and pale 
Him at whose frown my boyhood used to quail ! 



120 THE OLD TEACHER. 

Whose rod was for my good. From its controul 

Since years have set me free, 
No dread of the old master keeps my soul 

Bowed in humility, 
As erst, till he released us for the day 
To sports and games beyond his ferule's sway. 



But now, where'er we roam, at task or play, 

A sterner Master's eye 
And keener rod direct our every way 

And action, from on High. 
Nor court our eyes the nod, that shall dismiss 
Our souls to endless woe or endless bliss. 





c^ W&S^^^^^^ I 




THE TRYST, 



N hour too early in the grove ! 
An hour for blissful dreams, 



Which countless starry eyes above 
Will gladden with their beams. 



Through leaves and twigs they peep at me, 

Like frolic elves at play, 
Who slip behind rock, bush or tree, 

Whene'er one looks their way. 



The varying screen through which I gaze 

Fantastic shapes assumes, 
As with its breath the south wind sways 

The tree-tops , yielding plumes ; 



122 THE TRYST. 

Till rests my wandering glance upon 
The steadfast star of Jove, 

As lovers' eyes all others shun 
Save those that drink their love. 



I hearken to the village chime ; 

The first half hour is past ! 
With what a funeral march cold Time 

Sets forth upon the last ! 

A dark cloud, sailing by, puts out 
My lone star's radiant light ; 

Its shadow dims with sombre doubt 
Fond hopes just now so bright 



Anon, upon the thirsty leaves 
The pattering rain-drops fall, 

The sky its swelling bosom heaves 
And clouds each other call, 



THE TRYST. 121 



In place of heaven's fair face, alive 
With kindly twinkling eyes, 

Remote volcanoes seem to rive 
The cloud-peaks of the skies, 



Up-flaring, like the beacon's flame, 
Which darts from crag to brow 

On Alpine summits, and the gleam 
Of arms reveals below. 



The zephyr which, with fond caress, 
The prostrate leaves just stirred, 

Until methought her rustling dress 
And fairy foot I heard, 



Like a startled hind, now holds its breath, 
As the north wind's eager pant 

With a hiss, as of serpents bristling its path, 
Comes driving the rain aslant ; 



124 THE TRYST, 

Swaying the saplings of the wood 
And its giants of stalwart form, 

Who toss their arms, like a multitude 
Applauding the voice of the storm. 



Soon, from the battlements of night, 
Fierce lightning shafts are hurled, 

Like meteors pre-Adamite 
In the old chaotic world. 



A roar, as of a smitten shield, 
Responds to those red brands, 

As when Salmoneus scorned to yield 
To Jove's divine commands. 



A roar as of caissons over a vault — 
Each armed with a loaded gun — 

Which, on its summit a moment halt, 
Then topple down one by one. 



THE TRYST. 1 25 

They are fired ! first singly, and then pell-mell, 

And the startled air is riven 
By thunder crashes like echoes from Hell 

Of its fiends besieging Heaven ! 



Appalled, I clasp in pallid dismay 

The tryst-tree in the glade, 
While gods and Titans in frantic affray 

Ply round me their cannonade. 



When lo ! in the midst of that riot fell, 
Through its bolts of deadly fire, 

The silvery voice of the midnight bell, 
Speaks from the village spire. 



As waved by a spell, the battle turns : 

Its wild alarums cease ; 
The full moon now in the zenith burns ; 

All nature is at peace. 



126 



THE TRYST. 



At chime the twelfth, my whispered name,- 

And then — -an angel's kiss ! 
Would I renew that fearful dream 

For the wealth of that waking bliss ? 




PALMISTRY, 

^AIDENS ! Bonnie maidens three, 
Stop a while and list to me. 



By the hedge, beneath the tree ! 



" Let me read each mystic line, 
Fate's or Fortune's future sign, 
In those tender palms of thine." 



Spake the first, whose thoughtful eyes 
Took their hue from azure skies, 
" Much I dread thy prophecies." 



128 PALMISTRY. 

And the next, with hair of gold, 
" I have had my fortune told, 
Yet comes not the lover bold." 



But the third, with lips compressed, 
" I will try thee, if the rest — 
Nay, alone — Here, read thy best." 

Then the crone with swarthy cheek, 
Eyes ablaze but manner meek, 
Spoke, as though the hand could speak 

" Power wantest thou and gold — 
Both shalt have when thou art old, 
Joyless riches then shalt hold ; 



" Here I see two broken hearts, 

Neither thine ! " The maiden starts— 
" Loose rny hand ! I spurn your arts." 



PALMISTRY. I29 

" Go thy way ! The Gipsy scorn — 
Roses now thy cheek adorn 
Which may fade before the morn." 

Now she of the auburn tress, 
In her " steel-eyed loveliness/'* 
Ventures near the sorceress, 

Who, untouched the silver aim 
Lying in the proffered palm, 
Curious heeds that gaze so calm. 

As the jewel which, at night, 
Still retains day's vanished light, 
Shone the Gipsy's vision bright. 

Like that jewel's rugged trace 
On the crystal's polished face, 
In that eye she read disgrace. 

* Washington Allston. 



I30 PALMISTRY. 

And a cold and glistening ray 
Flashed, ere turned her glance away, 
On the silver as it lay. 



" Since my sister Sibylline 
Read to thee its hidden sign, 
Pressed hath been this hand of thine. 



" Many a tear and many a groan 
Hast thou shed and breathed alone ; 
The lover bold hath come and gone." 



Waved her hand with haughty grace, 
Burned like sunset's glow her face, 
As the maid stepped back a pace. 



" Dare not wrong my spotless fame ! 
Lo ! this ring protects from shame 
Love I may not yet proclaim ! 



PALMISTRY. 131 

" Though but lowly my degree, 
Yet a noble proud and free 
Plighted truly is to me." 

In those eyes the tears that shone 
Seemed to soothe the ruthless crone, 
Seemed to touch her heart of stone. 



" Ah ! I see. Its bitter foes, 
Pride and rank, the love oppose 
Which upon thy cheek now glows/ 

" If a knight my lover be, 
Soon his gallant form I'll see ; 
If a caitiff! He is free." 



Then the maid with eyes of blue, 
Clasping her companion, threw 
One hand to the Gipsy's view. 

9—2 



132 PALMISTRY. 

As that gentle palm she grasped, 
On its lines the weird one cast 
Eyes in which tears gathered fast. 



Bright as pearls a diver bold 
Brings up from the sea-deeps cold, 
From her lids' dark caves they rolled. 



1 Dearer is the hand I hold 
Than the mine's discovered gold, 
Than the hoarder's wealth untold ; 



" Lines of hope and lines of truth, 
Lines of pure and peerless youth," 
Sobbed the crone with joy uncouth. 



Scarce these words exultant said, 
When a glittering cavalcade 
Fills the path adown the glade. 



PALMISTRY. 133 



Knights in gorgeous bravery, 
Steeds that neigh a proud reply 
To the horn's wild hallali ! 



When their chief in armor bright 
Met the steel-eyed damsel's sight, 
Crimson blushed her cheek so white ; 

Faded, then, like evening's sun 
From the snow when day is done. 
" Lo ! here comes my champion ! 

"Still ! oh, fluttering heart, thy fears ! 
Though a monarch he appears, 
And a royal morion wears ; 



"On, beneath its golden gleams, 
Tenderly as ever beams 
All the glory of my dreams." 



134 PALMISTRY, 

Then the King, with joy and pride, 
Sprang down to the maiden's side, 
" Mother ! rise and bless my bride." 



At his spur's impatient clank, 
At his voice so glad and frank, 
Rose the Gipsy from the bank. 

Vanished then her dreamy mood, 
Downward shrank the cloak and hood, 
And a queen revealed she stood. 

Then advanced with face of pride, 
Blessed her son and blessed the bride 
Nestling speechless at his side. 



Motionless the blue-eyed maid, 

As to break the spell afraid, 

Stood beneath the elm-tree's shade ; 



PALMISTRY, 5 35 

Till the queen, with courtly phrase, 
" Prithee, sweet, thine eyelids raise. 
Lovely art thou beyond praise." 



From long lashes glancing under, 
Starts the blue-eyed girl in wonder, 
Like a child at sound of thunder ; 



Starts with cheek of scarlet hue ; 
For the page in doublet blue 
Timidly who near her drew, 

Was the same, she now bethought her. 
Who once, offering holy water, 
With a wistful look did court her ; 



Once, too, passing from the church 
In procession through the porch, 
Lit her taper with his torch. 



136 PALMISTRY, 

From her eyes, in blissful maze, 

Timidly responsive rays 

Meet his fond and sparkling gaze. 



Soon the joyous cavalcade, 
Bearing Gipsy, bride, and maid, 
Homeward prance adown the glade. 

* * •* ■* ■* 

Seething spite in every vein, 
Chose the proud lass to remain, 
Envying her companions twain. 











MINSTRELSY, 

N the weary tramp of life, 

Midst its din of clanging strife, 
They who foot it in the ranks 
Fill their duty without thanks. 

They want water, and not rhyme, 
Food, when up is marching time, 
Sleep, when, supper over, they 
Weary heads on knapsacks lay. 



Yet, when comes an eve of leisure, 
Oh ! how eager they for pleasure ; 
" Pass the goblet— fill the bowl- 
Drink we to the better soul." 



13$ MINSTRELSY. 

Ear and heart then crave a song, 
All intent the listeners throng ; 
Crave no Bacchic roundelays, 
But the chaunts of boyhood's days. 



Sings the minstrel strains of war ? 
Eyelids quiver, glasses jar. 
Tunes his viol hymns of love ? 
Moistened cheeks their magic prove. 



Glancing one upon his glass, 
Mirrored sees the blue-eyed lass 
Gifted first with power to thrill 
His young heart till then so still. 



And another, in the wine, 

Imaged sees the face divine, 

Which when loved and wooed and won, 

Vanished, like the setting sun ! 



MINSTRELSY. 139 

And another, as he sips 
The nectar eager for his lips, 
Meets in fancy the caress 
Which those lips shall never press ! 



Thus all, in a dreamy fever, 
Would the song might last for ever ; 
Sighing when the magic strain 
Drops them back to life again. 



But to-morrow ! " Shoulder pack," 
Farewell to the bivouac, 
Onward march with drum and fife, 
Footsore up the path of life. 



So the Poet would he win 
Sympathies the heart within, 
Must not urge his song, but wait 
For the clamour at the gate ! 






^?^] ( 




PORRIGO DEXTRAM. 

jjHILE sorrows ebb and flow 
On Life's gray strand, 



To all oppressed by woe 
I reach a hand. 



The body's but a cell, 

Its jailer he 
Whose key from earth's dark spell 

Shall set us free. 



Stars, though unseen by day, 
Still glow in wells, 

Where truth's unwelcome ray 
In exile dwells. 



PORRIGO DEXTRAM. 141 

Like barks, wave-tossed till sore, 

Upon the deep, 
Within our souls, a store 

Of wealth we keep. 



Then, brother, here's my hand, 
Though void its palm, 

Beside thee will I stand 
Till God send balm ; 



Beside thee float, while hold 
Two planks together, 

Till melts His sun this cold 
And wintry weather. 



When that ray shines, we part, 
But thou shalt stay ; 

Another sinking heart 
Calls me away. 



142 PORRIGO DEXTRAM. 

And should hope's dawning beams 

To gems congeal, 
Bright as the diamond streams 

Of Maund reveal, 



Swear that a brother's cry, 
By sea or land, 

Shall ever draw thee nigh 
With helping hand. 




NOT WINE ALONE, 

IS not within the vine-wreathed bowl 
Alone, that madness lies. 



Whatever quickens pulse and soul, 
Beyond sage reason's mild control, 
With wine's sweet phrenzy vies. 

The Boy, when first his arrow shakes 

Within the circle's eye ; 
The Youth, whose javelin overtakes 
The roebuck bounding to the brakes, 

Is drunk with extacy. 



The Rider, when his steed hath past 
Some rival cavalcade ; 



144 MOT WINE ALONE. 

And he, whose bark and wind-bent mast 
On adverse sails their shadows cast, 
In sport or cannonade ; 



The brain that yields to starry eyes, 

Or fires with clash of steel ; 
Or swims when victory's shouts arise 
From blood-stained fields to evening skies, 

All these with madness reel. 



The Bard, whose fervid strains arouse 

Ten thousand echoes, when 
A nation's gratitude endows 
With laurel, or with oak, the brows 
Of King or Citizen ; 



The Conqueror, with sheathed sword, 
Midst Io Paeans borne, 



NOT WINE ALONE. 1 45 



The Tribune, whose electric word, 
Upon the forum's billows poured, 
Awakens wrath or scorn, 



These, all are drunk with conscious power, 

And they, the fierce or cold, 
Who revel in revenge's hour, 
Or who exult when gloating o'er 

Red piles of hidden gold. 



Yet, when I glow with gladdening wine. 
All, all these various joys are mine, 

At Fancy's will. 
Love, beauty, fame, rank, wealth, and power, 
Alternate, in the jocund hour 

My bosom fill. 



Again, a boy, I clutch the prize, 
A youth, I bask in sunny eyes, 

10 



146 NOT W7NE ALONE, 

The race I win ; 
My bark all other barks outstrips,, 
My name is, by a nation's lips, 

Made Glory's twin. 



Tis o'er ! I find 'twas but a dream- 
But, through the fore-dawn's dark extreme, 

Day's earliest dart 
Reminds me that, in Love or War? 
Such triumphs leave no other scar 

Than in my heart. 



<®-^<^m^^ 



jB I *C^&5r 



THE RUBY GOBLET, 




jOMRADES ! we have sung and laughed 
Merrily to-night ; 
Each of us a cup hath quaffed 

To his mistress bright. 

Do not let a sadder strain 

Take you by surprise \ 

Ere the toast we fill again 

I would moralize, 



Blazoned in our firmament 
Float the poised hours, 

From their task, like us, unbent, 
Garlanded with flowers. 



10- 



148 THE RUBY GOBLET. 

In this polished table's face 
See the wax-lights gleam. 

As the early sunbeams chase 
Darkness from a stream. 

Say, is not this empty glass 

Some poor spirit's jail? 
Else, when I my finger pass 

Round it, why this wail ? 
Now, a maiden's plaintive sigh, 

Now a captive's groan, 
Now, a stricken warrior's cry 

Seems its swelling tone. 

These dim arabesques you see 

Gild its ruddy bowl, 
Are the faded tracery 

Of a magic scroll. 
Mine the wizard's mystic lore 

To divine the spell, 
And evoke those shapes of yore 

From the crystal cell ! 



I 



THE RUBY GOBLET. 1 49 

Hist ! An echo now replies 

Faintly to my hymn ; 
Lo ! A ghost with pale blue eyes 

Rises to the brim. 
Wistful is his visage cold, 

Trimmed his beard with grace, 
As we see in many an old 

Pictured knightly face. 

To my ear those lips so pale, 

In his native tongue, 
Whisper now a sadder tale 

Than our lips have sung. 
; Tis a century at least 

Since Venetian mould 
Fashioned for his bridal feast, 

This red cup I hold. 

Day had only broken thrice 

Ere the Adriatic, 
Of his young heart's Paradise, 

Quenched the bliss extatic. 



150 THE RUBY GOBLET. 

• Ransomed came from Tunis' strand 
One long mourned as dead, 
By whose madly jealous hand 
His fair life was sped. 

Though she wept and tore her hair 

On her darling's bier, 
Fugitive was her despair 

As the fleeting year. 
Hardly was the crimson dried 

On the fatal knife, 
Ere became the victim's bride 

The destroyer's wife. 

From this chalice, which her lips 

Drained their bridal night, 
He, in spirit, hovering, sips 

Still a sad delight. 
Hark ! the spectre chants a lay 

Of the olden time — 
Listen, while my lips essay 

To repeat the rhyme. 



I 



THE RUBY GOBLET. 151 

All the friends who round my bridal board 

Joyous shone, 
Are, like me, beneath the tufted sward, 

Dead and gone. 

Oft has this beloved goblet rung 

Life's first dawn ; 
Often wailed the child whose birth it sung. 

Dead and gone. 

Warriors I have seen, and statesmen hoary ; 

Round it drawn ; 
Seen eclipsed their wisdom and their glory, 

Dead and gone. 

Jovial guests ! how near your revelry, 

Those lips yawn, 
Which have swallowed myriads like me, 

Dead and gone. 

Comrades ! sadly sings the ghost 

Of this ruby glass ; 
Fill to him a silent toast — 

Quick the flagon pass. 
If sonear the red lips yawn 

Of the glutton grave, 
Let us antedate the dawn 

In this rosy wave ! 










BOHEMIAN SONG, 



OME, trip it with me gaily here, 
The forest glade our ball-room is, 
The ills of life shall disappear, 
Or from the turf rebound in bliss. 



Blow, comrade, blow thy wheaten pipe, 

Twang, brother, twang the trembling string, 

Care gripes us with an iron gripe ; — 
To care the joyous heel we fling. 



Their walls of stone but dungeons are, 
To them who in great cities dwell, 

'Neath roofs through which no sunbeam fair 
Can reach the flowers we love so well. 



BOHEMIAN SONG. 1 53 

For us, our last night's grassy bed 
Kind nature makes up fresh again, 

Ere drops the sun his weary head 
Upon the bosom of the main. 



In sleep we hear the mystic powers 
Of earth their subtle callings ply ; 

Awake, in brighter worlds than ours, 
We read the marvels of the sky. 



Once more, sweet partner, pipe again, 
Twang fiercelier, mates, the cittern's call \ 

For, unseen spirits swell the strain 
To which our feet keep festival. 



An atom less, and we should be 
Floating on rosy clouds of love ; 

A feather more, with pinions free, 
Cleaving the paths of worlds above. 



154 BOHEMIAN SONG. 

Thy drooping head my shoulder seeks, 
Sweet partner of the wandering doom 

Which poised 'twixt earth and heaven keeps 
Us, like Mohammed's pensile tomb. 



The evening star sinks fast, and see ! 

Around us in the twilight shades, 
The mystic throngs of old Chaldee, 

Her patriarchs, matrons, braves and maids. 



Blow softly while the ghostly crew 

The cadence mark with statelier pace ; 

Are they so many — we so few ? 

Oh, brothers, quick, one warm embrace ! 



They're gone ! 'tis night ; at dusk they come, 
Those shades of our long-buried sires, 

To follow us where'er we roam ; 

" Now, comrades ! to your evening fires." 



WALTZ, 

|OME to me, maiden fair, 
Maiden with golden hair, 



Now that the vesper air 
Trembles no more with prayer ! 



Come where the Zingaree, 
Under the linden tree, 
Spurring his comrades three, 
Pipes a wild jubilee ! 



Come, while their tabor's beat 
Urges the dancers fleet ; 
Come, let thy tiny feet 
Mine on the meadow meet ! 



156 WALTZ. 

Bounding we gaily start ; 
Flashes thy blue eyes dart : 
Spare thou my captive heart ; 
Or — let us never part ! 

Strains gently sighing in the air, love, 
Wake echoes in our hearts so near, love ! 

I pant with thy sighs, love, 

And see with thine eyes, love. 
Swayed by the magic waltz, love, 
Ne'er to its measure false, love, 

One hand in thine, love, 

One holds thee mine, love — 
Mine, while fills the glade the whirling dance, 

With visions bright 

That dazzle sight ; 
Mine, while float we clasped, as in a trance, 

On pinions bright 

This sparkling night. 

Rarest diamonds of the mine, love, 
Pale beside those eyes of thine, love ; 



WALTZ. 



1*7 



But ere I thy hand resign, 

Take, oh ! take this heart of mine. 



Dying, sleeps in death the strain ; 
Sinks my soul in gloom and pain. 
Till that waltz shall wake again, 
Thou and I, sweet girl, are twain. 




MAZURKA, 




UTAND aside while Schamiloff, 
In the hall of Peterhof, 
Drags the Queen of Beauty off, 
Duchess Olga Romanoff, 
Stemming the dance's tide 
With the Mazurka stride 
Which she, so lately 
Grand Duchess stately, 
Follows sedately. 
Now, with a victor's pride, 

Clasps he her slender waist, 
Twin-like they onward glide, 

As though by foemen chased 
Now casts her loose, but holds, 
Vice-like, her captive hand ; 
While, like a tempest, rolls 
Louder the frantic band. 



MAZURKA, T59 

He tramps with fiercer swing, 
She his pace following 
Lightly as bird on wing 
Follows without demur 
His clashing heel and spur : 
He proud as Lucifer, 
She, as an angel calm 
Trusting his iron arm 
Through the wild dances swarm. 
Till the orchestral storm 
Melts into melodies 
Soft as a summer breeze. 
Now other steps they choose, 
He in his turn pursues 
And her forgiveness wooes, 
With a beseeching joy, 
Wooes her retreating coy, 
When, like a thunder-clap. 
Halt ! bids the leader's rap. 
And Duchess Olga sees 
SchamilorT on his knees. 



CONTRADANZA, 



O the ball of Penalver 

Draped in muslin clouds, repair 
All Havana's daughters fair. 




Eyes like diamonds upon jet 
Sparkle to the castanet. 
Cheeks of pearl in sable set 

By their frames of raven hair, 
Saint-like crown the arches fair 
Of young bosoms free from care. 



Hark ! the dance is just beginning, 
See the Ethiop faces grinning 
On the ardent couples spinning ! 



CONTRADANZA. l6l 

Midst those fairy phantoms, waving 
Perfumed scarves the sense enslaving, 
There was one that set me raving. 

Princess of the Contradanzcb 
Was Dolores of Braganza, 
Sweet Dolores ! whom my stanza 

Cannot picture otherwise, 

In her stainless beauty's guise, 

Than a shape from Paradise. 

When her glance shot back the rays 

Of my deep imploring gaze, 

I wound through the dance's maze, 

Clove its billowy fall and rise, 

Taking oath by her flashing eyes 

That her heart should become my prize. 

When a man with fiery breath 

Whispered—" Rush not to your death, 

ii 



1 62 CONTRADANZA. 

If you dance this seguidilla 
With Dolores, I will kill you !" 

Though I saw but a swarthy beard, 
When I turned as he disappeared, 
Through my frame ran an icy shiver, 
As of one fallen in a river, 
Until she from her gleaming eyes 
Shot a meteor of wild surprise, 
And I read in her lips' disdain, 
" Are you deaf to this wooing strain ?" 

On I pressed till I reached her side, 

Clasped her waist in its slender pride, 

And inhaling her balmy breath, 

In the whirl leaped from thoughts of death, 

Like a spirit which from its tomb 

Soars to Heaven the day of doom. 

From the panting throng, that surged 

Thick around us, we emerged 

Gliding still near its throbbing edge, 

In her ear trembled yet my pledge, 



CONTRA DA XZA . 1 63 

When, within the boscage, staring 
I perceived two wild eyes glaring 
Like the panther's before his spring — 
To my troth she was murmuring 
Words that from its sad disquiet 
Raised my soul to blissful riot. — 
When I saw a gleaming knife 
Tap the fountains of her life ! 

Aimed at me was the vengeful blow 
That drew blood from her breast of snow. 
When his error the maniac knew. 
With the red blade himself he slew. 
From her lips, upon Death's dark tide 
Floated — "Manuel ! why kill thy bride z " 




11- 



THE BLIND FIDDLER, 



HO knocks ? Come in ! Thy message say ; 
A beggar ? Sixpence — Go thy way ! 



A fiddler too ? A shilling take 

And go ; nor dare my nerves to shake, 

Thy little handmaid says thou'rt blind, 

Each eye, a sixpence more. That's kind. 

Two shillings not enough ? Ingrate ! 

Well, let the little maiden prate. 

" Please, sir, his poor old viol's strung ; 

For thanks he has no other tongue." 

A tear ? " Its strings he fain would sweep. 

Few thank when they a harvest reap." 

W r ell ! Play, old man. — That timid air 

Steals through me like an infant-prayer. 



THE BLIND FIDDLER. 1 6; 



3 



Now swells the bow to fuller strains, 

Exhaling riper joys and pains 

Of youth and manhood, — old man, stay 

Thy fingers ! picture not decay, 

But Love, the Dance, the Festal Sonj, 

The Squadron's Charge, the Altars Throng. 

Here, take my purse — my blessing too, 

Thou'st shown me something yet to do. 

And when thou'rt gone, I'll hie me forth, 
Convinced there still are joys on earth, 
Though not the passions, pride and power, 
Which wither in life's sunset-hour ■ 
But Nature's every charm and grace — 
For, ages wrinkle not her face — 
A steadfast Love, to Friendship kin 
The victory of soul o'er sin ; 
And charities, like cargoes sent 
To distant climes, which tenfold rent 
Bring back to hearts whose happy glow 
Is fed by what themselves bestow. 



1 66 THE BLIND FIDDLER. 

And all these fragrant flowers hath twined 
About my heart, a fiddler blind ! 



The poet hath no keener sight, 

Than this old man with vision blight, 

Who, piercing with the spirit's eye 

The veil of his infirmity, 

Hath, with his viol's quickening spell, 

My pinions warmed to break their shell ; 

If I accomplish half the task 

He wrought on me — 'Tis all I ask. 



DIALOGUE. 

POET. 

Round my heart thy viol flings 
Rapture, with four magic strings. 
If thy bow, with but the spell 
Of twelve semitones, can tell, 



THE BLIND FIDDLER. \6j 

Like the rod that gold divines. 
All the ear's unfathomed mines, 
Spells how many wields the pen, 
To delight the hearts of men ? 



FIDDLER. 

Countless as the shore's gray sands 
Are the spells the pen commands ; 
Earth, and they who on it dwell, 
Space and Ocean, Heaven and Hell. 
Be thy soul with these chords strung 
Fervently, and pen and tongue, 
Thrilling deeper, hearts shall raise 
Higher than my lowly lays. 

POET. 

By the measure thou hast taught 
I will sell what life hath bought, 
I will give thy song a shape, 
Ere its fleeting tones escape. 



1 68 



THE BLIND FIDDLER. 



FIDDLER. 

Mock thou not my humble art ! 
With my bow, God touched thy heart, 
And to Him ascend its strains, 
While thy song on Earth remains. 




NEW MUSIC, 




gOU hear an air that thrills your ears 
With memories of bygone years. 
Forgetting age and care and pain, 
Your soul puts on its youth again ; 
And she who shone in beauty's pride, 
Long faded, sparkles at your side ; 
And as, in spring, old wines ferment 
When buds and leaves on vines are blent, 
So through your quickened pulses pour 
The effervescent joys of yore. 
Again her name drops from your lip 
Into the brimming cup you sip ; 



17 O NEW MUSIC, 

Nay, in the amber wine you trace 
The image of her cherished face. 
Oh days of youth and wild delight ! 
Oh gladdening waters, sweet as bright, 
Which memory's melodious spells 
Uncover like the Desert's wells ! 



Another sits in gloom and pain 

Whilst you drink in the rapturous strain. 

As East winds open ancient wounds, 

His bleed afresh at those sweet sounds ; 

It is the air, that lured him on 

To wretchedness in days bygone, 

Which now relumes the witching gaze 

Of those dark eyes whose treacherous rays 

To ashes burnt his youth so fair, 

And left his life one long despair : 

His mistress by a rival bought, 

Or worse, his wife's dishonor wrought, 

Recur, as with those notes arise 

His heart's burnt-offerings to the skies, 



NEW MUSIC. 171 



And leave it, when the strains expire, 
An altar blackened by the fire. 
The sun grows pale, the air is chill, 
Grim skeletons his vision fill ; 
In Death no greater terrors lie, 
For thus to suffer is to die ! 



Now, like fond brothers, hand in hand, 
Both tread some fair and unknown strand, 
In measure ; when the magic wand 
Of Schumann sways the tuneful band, 
Or Wagner's glorious voices smite 
The ear, and unsipped joys unlock, 
As when the Patriarch Israelite 
With faith-tipped rod struck Horeb's rock. 



One, wafted to the fairy isle 

On ocean's softest summer smile ; 

One, 'scaped with life and nothing more 

From ocean's fiercest wintry roar : 



172 NEW MUSIC. 

Both drink its odors, breeze-beguiled 
From thicket and savanna wild ; 
Both taste its tropic fruitage rilled 
With sweetness from the sun distilled : 
Both bask in blooms that never change 
From seaside up to mountain range ; 
Till to their ravished senses seem 
Life's bliss and bale an equal dream, 
And each, in extacy, forgets 
The past — its joys and its regrets. 





STRADIVARIUS, 

HEN the viol hath been strung. 
And the master's hand hath wrung 



Speech from every hermit tongue 

That unseen dwells 

Within its cells : 
Hoarse its voices until taught 
With its rapture to consort, 
Or. in sweet concent, to show 
Sympathy with human woe ; 



Then, in their retiredness, 
Craving constantly to bless 
Air and ear with tuneful stress, 



Each mellower gro^vs 



In its repose, 



174 STRADIVARIUS. 

Till a fuller choral swell, 
And a softer waning spell, 
Are the echoes that respond 
To the master's magic wand. 



When the viol's tones aspire 
Upward, like the breath of fire, 
Does the master's soul inspire 

Alone its sighs 

And symphonies ? 
Or, do angels with the strain 
Seek their long-lost home again, 
Soaring in melodious throng 
On the pinions of his song ? 

When a friend hath ceased to groan, 
While we o'er his coffin moan, 
And deplore his spirit flown, 

Dare we maintain 

That ne'er again 



STRADIVARIUS. 1 75 

Shall that unstrung harp be wound 
And the Master's glory sound ? 
May not, then, the lute enshrine 
Unseen spirits half divine ? 




TO WILLIAM YOUNG. 



IGNES FATUL 

DREAM the limner's waking eyes 
Shall strive to seize 
As vainly as the bark that flies 
Before the breeze ; 



A strain that flutters in the ear 

Yet shuns the throat, 
As hushes, when you draw too near, 

The linnet's note* 



An echo which, within a vale, 

Responds no more 
Than a beloved one, by the gale 

Cast dead ashore ; 



IGNES FATUI. 177 

The stations of the stars at noon, 

The silvery wake 
Poured by the horn of last night's moon 

Upon the lake ; 



The memory of April's grace 
When trees are bare, 

Or of December's frosty face 
When June is fair ; 



To strike from air those sparks of bliss, 

In solitude, 
Which seemed eternal when your kiss 

Its fellow wooed ; 



To ask a friend the boon yourself 

Had freely given, 

And find him dearlier prizing pelf 

Than Love or Heaven ; 

12 



17S IGNES FATUL 

To toil from dawn till day is old 
With bleeding hands, 

Yet fail to find one grain of gold 
In mocking sands ; 



So seem and such the shapes that throng 

Him who pursues — 
Endeavouring to entrap in song — 

The wayward Muse. 




DAWN AT MIDNIGHT, 




LONE upon the Spouting Rock 
I hear its voices roar, 
And watch the baffled surges shock 
Against the iron shore. 



The wind grows bolder — not a cloud 
Restrains the sweeping breath 

I've seen rend ships — till mast and shroud 
Whirled in a dance of death. 



Against the sky, with swollen sail, 

A bark now T ploughs the deep ; 

Her freight, perchance, but seed this gale 

Shall sow, and Ocean reap. 

12 — 2 



l8o DAWN AT MIDNIGHT, 

God speed those whom the winds pursue 

This wild yet starry night ; 
And keep my heart until I view 

Her casement's promised light. 



Sail on ! O bark, through every change 

Of season and of sky ; 
Within the haven of yon grange 

My hopes at anchor lie ! 




THE1CHARGE, 



ii ANTER on ! canter on ! gaily we go ; 



Let no betrayal our trumpeters blow; 
Till we behold on yon summit the foe, 

Loose not the bugle's wild breath ; 
Then to its sound we will bound o'er the ground, 

Jubilant unto the death. 



Tighten your girths as we rise yonder slant ; 
Slacken your pace, let your weary steeds pant. 
Hark ! 'tis the enemy's rude battle-chaunt : 

Grow to your saddles, my men ! 
We're on the hill ! — blow your will, bugles shrill ! 

Now for a crash in the glen ! 







THE MOON AND THE BEACON, 




ONEY MOON ! Honey moon ! 
Though — this April night — 
Ocean, bay, and dark lagoon 

Revel in thy light, 
Will to-morrow see thy rays 

Where to-night they gleam, 
And my young bride's tender gaze 
Still with gladness beam ? 



Beacon light ! Beacon light ! 

On yon lonely shore, 
Shining, faith-like, every night, 

Where the breakers roar ! 



THE MOON AND THE BEACON, 1 83 

Like a beating heart, thy flash, 

Fed by human care, 
Cheers the Mariner when crash 

Tempests through the air. 



Maiden fair ! Maiden fair ! 

While the orange wreath 
Sheds its fragrance o'er thy hair, 

Let thy balmier breath 
Vow that, like the Beacon's light, 

Thou wilt ever shine 
For the lover who to-night 

Links his fate to thine. 





LA CHOCOLATIERE. 

Jf^RIGHT are thine eyes, my pretty little maid. 
*s=^!l As diamonds sunk in jet ; 
Brown is thy cheek, as shadows in the glade 
By eve for lovers set. 

Lissom and smooth thy fairy-moulded shape 
Which gossamer muslins press, 

As clouds around the Jungfrau's summit drape 
Her snows with mute caress. 



Sometimes a thrill shoots through the sweet repose 
In which thou art enchained, 

And like the flush of summer-lightning glows 
Thy cheek with azure veined. 



LA CHOCOLATIERE. 

Say ! dost thou, then, a song of spirits hear, 

Inaudible to me ; 
Or, on his throne in Dreamland's moonlit sphere, 

Thy young heart's monarch see ? 



Say ! if the black braids of the silken hair 
In which thy face is noosed 

Are but a wit chingly-de vised snare 
To pinion souls seduced ? 



For — that thy fawn eyes bait no ambuscade 
Could I but fondly trust— 

I'd kneel so low to thee, O pretty maid, 
My brow should kiss the dust ! 




TO MY NIECE LOUISE. 



DOLORES, 

JFg^l ER ear to all the litanies 
isHs Of brooks and whispering leaves alive, 
Pure as the violet-laden breeze, 
Dolores hath no sin to shrive. 



By fawns she's welcomed in the fields ; 

In groves by birds with vying throats, 
To swains nor lords no heed she yields, 

But in sweet peace serenely floats, 



DOLORES. 187 

Till, in the twilight hour, she hears 
A voice that wakes her sleeping heart, 

Now, breathing tones that melt to tears, 
Now, blasts at which her pulses start, 



Sphinx-like her face, while tender fires 

Soften the glaciers of her breast, 
And pleasing fears and new desires 
i Like fairy voices thrill her rest. 



Her ear thenceforth his trumpet is ; 

Her soul a lyre within his hands ; 
Her eye sees only light in his, 

Who twines her fate with silken strands. 





TITIAN TO STELLA. 



LOVE thee that thou dost inspire 
My ice-bound heart with quickening fire, 
And makest me forget, 
One silver moment, that I'm old, 
When warms thy breath my lips, from cold 
Indifference to regret. 



As, in gray Autumn's dreary days, 
Their pallid cheeks the asters raise, 

To catch the sun's stray kiss ; 
So, ere the Arctic night sets in, 
Thy radiance shall my last thread spin 

With rapture's golden bliss. 



TITIAN TO STELLA. 1 89 

Oh, thrilling touch ! Oh, glowing eyes ! 
Whose beams, like stars in wintry skies, 

Shine harmless on the snow ! 
Harmless as when, in tempest dark, 
The palmer from the steel's cold spark 

A kindling flame would blow, 



Yet, phantom dear of buried days 
That veilest, with a sunset haze, 

The future's gloom and sorrow, 
Stay ! that the thought of thee may bless. 
With one bright ray of happiness, 

The dark clouds of to-morrow ! 




AT LAST. 




| HAT care I whence the cold wind blows, 
Or if yon skies be drear, 
Now that my longing arms enclose 
Her whom I hold most dear ? 



What care I for the wealth and power 
That light an emperor's throne, 

Since that kiss made — 'tis scarce an hour- 
Those tender lips my own ! 



ENFIN 




flU'IMPQRTE d'oti souffle la bise 
Qui teint en gris les cieux, 
Puisqu'enfin, dans rues bras, Elise 
Repond a tous mes voeux ! 



Qu'importent la puissance et Tor 
Qui luisent pres d'un Roi, 

Puisque, cedes leurs doux tresors, 
Ses levres sont a moi ! 



IQ2 AT LAST 1 , 

Let Warriors chase the phantom-light 
Of glory o'er the field, 

And Tyrants with oppression's might 
Make sullen nations yield. 



Let Orators with stormy breath 
Upheave the human seas, 

And Heirs rejoice when pallid death 
Gives them the golden keys ! 



I'll only live henceforth for her 
Who only lives for me ; 

The Vine that clasps the hoary Fir 
Makes glad the lonely tree ! 



What though death lurk in its embrace, 
Both men and trees must die ; 

What matters then my resting-place, 
Or when I in it lie ? 



ENFIN ! 193 



De la gloire que le soldat 
Cherche ie feu follet, 

Et de son sceptre les appas 
Le Tyran detesle. 



Que l'Orateur, comme Forage, 
Souleve l'assemblee, 

Et Paine, de son heritage, 
Touche la clef dore'e. 



Desormais pour elle je vis 

Qui pour moi seul existe ; 

La vigne verte autour de lui 
Rejouit le sapin triste ! 



Que ses baisers cachent la mort, 
Tout sapin doit mourir ; 

Qu'importe quand le meme sort 
Me condamne a perir ! 



194 



AT LAST! 



Her tears shall bless with flowers my grave. 

Until her soul take wing ; 
As o'er the fallen Fir shall wave 

The vine-bells many a spring. 




ENFIN ! 



1 95 



Ses pleurs eclateront en roses 
Dessus mon toit dernier \ 

Cornme, du pin dechu ecloses, 
Les fleurs de vigne en Mai. 




\-\-~2 



STILL! 




jJLAKED is the burning desert-thirst, 
And thou art wholly mine ! 
Stilled is the heart I thought must burst 
When throbbing close to thine ! 



Calmed the strange sense of vague unrest 
That shipwrecked mariners feel 

Ere, through the tropic breaker's crest, 
They launch their untried keel : 



Framed of the lordly tree which gave 

Them shelter from the blast, 
When, beachward high, the strong-armed wave 

Their senseless bodies cast. 



still! 197 

Like them, my heart, Life's bleakest heath 

In darkness doomed to rove, 
Found rest and woke to bliss beneath 

The mantle of thy love. 



With fire they carved the giant bole 

Unconscious of its fate ; 
With flame I shaped thy stately soul 

To carry mine as freight. 



In it, through passion's surges driven, 

I float beyond their roar ; 
And we, O Love ! are nearer Heaven 

Than when we left the shore. 



fe^JJSSxQg 




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THE MARINER'S BETROTHED, 

ORNING-STAR of drear November, 
Peering o'er yon wild lagoon, 
Last thy radiance I remember, 
Sparkling on that eve in June. 




As we two came forth together, 
From the porch with roses pied, 

Blushed I, when he asked me whether 
I would be a sailor's bride. 



Then, invoking thy soft splendor 
Lingering in the pale blue West, 

Words he whispered, true and tender. 
Till I sank upon his breast. 



THE MARINER'S BETROTHED. 1 99 

\V T ith the twilight, ah ! he vanished. 

Vanished to return in May. 
Oh ! 't is sad to love one banished 

To the ocean's desert way S 



But though day thy lustre hidetL 
Star of love ! from morn to night. 

In the deep lagoon abideth 

Still thine image, truthful, bright. 



And though far his bark be riding. 

Friendly sea or stormy wave, 
In my heart's deep springs abiding 

Shines his image fair and brave. 




MAN OVERBOARD! 



j HE night was dark, and in the tortured sea 



Our laden vessel labored heavily. 
I had the helm, and standing by my side 
Was Harry Thorn, his widowed mother's pride ; 
When, from the poop, a tiger-billow bore 
My hapless messmate off, with sullen roar. 
A coop, long emptied of its feathered crew, 
Our only life-buoy, quick as thought I threw. 
He clutched it, and sang out, " Haul in the line !" 
O God ! not fastened ? Whose the sin ? Not mine ! 
" Man overboard — up helm." — The ship we wear, 
And fiercer through our shrouds the storm-fiends tear ; 
Till break of day, we scoured the raging main, 
But never saw poor Harry Thorn again ! 



CATECHISM, 



Lover. 




| AIDEN, whom I fain would woo, 
Tell me truly — What canst do ? 
Nay — a moment let the lute, 
That just won my ear, be mute ; 
Nor inflame my soul again 
With thy voice's siren strain. 
Speak me calmly — speak me true ; 
Candor thou shalt never rue. 



Maiden. 



I can reckon and can read, 
Deftly say my prayers and creed, 



202 CATECHISM. 

In the church know when to kneel, 
And will neither lie nor steal ; 
Thus far have been reared in ease, 
Learning chiefly how to please ; 
And with song and merry smile, 
Hours of sadness to beguile. 



Lover. 

This is well, but not enough. 
Life is made of sterner stuff — 
From the altar dateth bliss, 
From it too oft wretchedness. 
Ask thy heart if it feel sure 
Thou canst care and want endure— 
Sorrow also — nor repine 
At the lot that made them thine. 

Maiden. 

it my will and power I knew, 
Me thou wouldst not seek to woo ; 



CA TECH ISM. 203 

Were my virgin soul not wax, 
Which Life's stern impression lacks, 
Waiting till Love's mystic seal 
Stamp its fate for woe or weal, 
Thou wouldst find the vow a curse, 
" Take for better or for worse." 



Lover. 

Sweeter honey yield thy lips 
Than the bee from clover sips, 
Sweeter tones than thrill thy lute 
Breathes thine answer to my suit ; 
Canst thou not divine my fate, 
Whether bright or desolate ? 
Speak ! For if deceived in thee, 
Life and Love must bankrupt be. 

Maiden. 

Ere a charger thou dost buy, 
Thou canst all his paces try ; 



204 CA TECHISM. 

Buy him, and, if good, he'll grow 
With the grace thy hands bestow ; 
Yet the jockey's cunning task 
May his imperfections mask ; 
If his' value thou wouldst know, 
Must upon a journey go. 



Lover. 

Thy comparison I see. 

Like the charger's pedigree, 

I but know by whom thou'rt bred, 

Trained and to the market led ; 

Can but scan thy shape and grace, 

As I would his form and pace. 

Maiden. 

Proof than this canst have no other, 
Know'st my father and my mother 
Who, unless their life's a lie, 
Daily bless the priestly tie ; 



CA TECHISM. 205 

Though they'll weep when I depart 
Cleaving to another's heart. 



Lover. 

I will take thee for my wife ; 

Worthless, else, would be the life 
Which henceforth belongs to thee. 
Say — shall thine belong to me ? 



Maiden. 

As upon the fountain's brink 
Pilgrims pause before they drink. 
Pause to cool the heated brow — 
Pause I — well, then, take my vow. 



n^^^^^M 



METATHALAMIUM. 




pHEN, like a perfume, from thy lips 

The " May-Queen's Song" first through me 
stole ; 
Like dawn above the mountain tips, 

Thy voice made morning in my soul ; 
Until expired the tender strain 

And silence quenched the rosy light, 
When, though I woke to day again, 
Within my spirit all was night. 



When horn and viol banished thought, 
Yet summoned every sense that slept, 

My hand thy grasp with ardor sought, 
And through the dance's maze we swept. 



METATHALAMIUM. 207 

But while thy feet, with tireless tread, 

Fulfilled its orb like Dian chaste, 
My reeling brain with frenzy sped 

Until my clasp released thy waist. 

We married — nor would I have changed 

My lot that morn for crown of gold. 
A month has flown — are you estranged ? 

I find you silent, thoughtful, cold. 
I am but mortal — whilst you sang 

In blissful dreams I sat entranced, 
And, when the waltz its summons rang, 

Whilst I had breath and sight I danced, 

But when or song or dance expires, 

A gold cord snaps — a spell is broke. 
Tis sad but true that mortal fires, 

Like those of brushwood, end in smoke. 
You promised me to make life bright — 

With smiles — then why that pouting glance ? 
You cannot sing from morn till night 

Nor I from night till morning dance. 



ZAMPITA. 

H ! she was wondrous fair, 
And when I said 
" Thee would I wed," 

She listened to my prayer ; 




But not as woman hears, 
When thrills the oath 
Of plighted troth 

In her expectant ears ; 



Rather as Mary Saint 
In altared shrine, 
With look benign, 

Receives a sinner's plaint, 



ZAMPITA. 209 



Who asks a happier lot ; 
Though to his suit 
The Virgin, mute 

But gracious, answers not, 



Until his soul shall rise, 
Through saving grace, 
Her living face 

To meet in Paradise. 



I said, " When we are wed, 
My Paradise 
Shall be thine eyes." 

Then she — " My heart is dead." 



I answered — " Only seared, 
And by the blight 
Of broken plight, 

To me far more endeared. 



2IO ZAMPITA. 

" Black is the carboneer, 
Who burns the oak 
To blacker coke, 
And makes the woodlands drear. 



" But blacker yet his soul, 
Who kindled thine 
With base design, 
And left its blossoms coal. 



" My love with tender art 
And patient aim, 
Shall blow its flame 
Upon thy cindered heart." 



At this, she dimly smiled, 
As in a grief 
One finds relief. 

By curious tales beguiled. 



ZAMPITA. Ill 



And when my suit I pressed, 
She, still in sorrow, 
Sighed, " Well, to-morrow ; 

Now, prithee, let me rest." 



The morrow came, and sealed 

Our fates in one ; 

Fair smiled the sun ; 
Gaily the church-bells pealed. 



As when you chance to feel 

A limb of wood ; 

It chills your blood, 
As might the surgeon's steel ; 



I found the wounded pride 
Of Love's keen smart, 
Had left her heart 

Not charred, but petrified. 

j 4- 



212 ZAMPITA. 

For years I've vainly striven 
With ardor true, 
To fire anew 

That heart by sorrow riven. 



For years my lips have tasted 
The mocking bliss, 
Of marble kiss, 

Until my frame is wasted. 



And when I pray for death, 
Her lips, still fair, 
Add, to my prayer, 

Amen ! with icy breath ! 



BY THE COFFIN. 



ID she ever, ever love me ? 
Never, never shall I know, 
Till I join her soul above me 
And her body down below. 



When I sought to draw the fire 
Of affection from her eye, 

Mine alone was the desire, 

Mine the smile, or mine the sigh. 



See her like a statue sleeping ! 

Yet no colder is she now 
Than when living — and my weeping 

Failed to melt her icy brow. 



214 BY THE COFFIN. 

Yet that brow at times with flashes 
Of a cindered past relumed ; 

Like the runes that flare in ashes 
Of old letters just consumed. 



Did its snow conceal a mystery, 
Shame or crime beneath its crust ; 

Or but cover up the history 
Of all human pride and dust ? 



For the last time let me kiss her, 
Shut the lid — I'll weep no more- 

Since my heart will only miss her 
As a prisoner the door 



Of his cell shut to at dawning 
To exclude all day the light, 

And at eventide set yawning 
To admit a starless night ! 



TO THE POET OF FARRINGFORD, 



FRIEND, who in the South now waits 
Until the Sesame 




Of peace shall cleave his prison-gates, 
Thus spake to me of thee : 



" He dwells in Britain's fairest isle, 
Within an ivy-kirtled pile, 

Gray as its Saxon age ; 
Mid flower-brocaded turfs that lie 
On chalk-cliffs, like the minstrelsy 

That broidereth his page. 



2l6 TO THE POET OF FARRINGFORD. 

" He dwells afar from Caerleon 
Where Arthur's dawning glories shone. 

Nor near to Camelot, 
Though in his walks, the spectral throng 
Of Paladins applaud his song, 

While weeps Sir Launcelot. 



" 'Twas there I heard his silver voice, 
In spells his pen had cast, rejoice, 

And saw its tones evoke 
The calm procession of his Dream 
Of Women Fair, until the stream, 

Of song, by night was broke. 



: Next day, at even's favouring tide 
1 left the Isle ; and by his side, 
To speed the parting guest, 
Stood she, who held in either hand 
A flaxen child with golden band 
Clasped round a crimson vest. 



TO THE POET OF FARRINGFORD. 21 J 

" As on them burned day's orange glow, 
My fancy pictured Ivanhoe, 

When love had crowned his joys, 
Rowena in the bloom of life, 
The mother, still with beauty rife, 

Of his two Saxon boys." 

Moss-rose Pendennis, when he cast 
His petals on our Northern blast, 

To scent its wintry breath, 
Swore thou alone of living men, 
Within its widely-reaching ken, 

Would'st long survive thy death. 

Another* came, whose sparkling glow 
Might vie with the inspiring flow 

Of Rhone or fairy Rhine, 
And vowed thou wert no anchorite ; 
For he once saw thee half the night, 

The cup with garlands twine. 

* William Howard Russell, 



2l8 TO THE POET OF FARRINGFORD. 

Two portraits of thee near me lie ; 
In rapture on the Eastern sky 

The younger seems to gaze ; 
The other of the Western sun 
In autumn, ere the day is done, 

Reflects the saddening rays. 



But not thy living fame nor face, 
Though tongue or bust their image trace, 

Before my soul arise ; 
I see thee as in after days, 
Posterity shall with his lays 

The minstrel canonize. 




MODERN FAITH, 



ARRO HARIXG, in his bed, 
Woke one night with aching head. 
Having dreamed that God was dead. 

Freely flowed his tears 
Till, on Denmark's mountains dawning, 
Came the radiance of the morning, 
To dispel his fears. 



In the watches of the night 
Sometimes comes an ugly sprite, 
Saying, u Faith has lost her bright 



220 MODERN FAITH. 

Reconciling beam." 
But when Arthur with a caper, 
Brings me up the morning paper, 

See I 'twas a dream ! 

If its columns do not lie, 
Faith, I think, can never die, 
While one man is left to buy 

What his neighbors sell — 
One, who on the share-list glancing, 
Sees it falling or advancing, 

Shrink with Faith or swell. 

As the horse another wisp 
Snatches of his fodder crisp 
From the hay-rick — I the lisp 

In a column near, 
Read of Waibridge patriotic, 
Shedding light on this chaotic, 

War-beladen year.* 
* 1861. 



MODERN FAITH. 

Next beside the Hiramade, 
Demonstrates a " dress parade " 
That our boys to this crusade 

Body give and mind. 
Next, some demagogue deceiving 
Speaks to gaping crowds believing 

He to self is blind. 



On another page, unrolls 
Secretary Chase the scrolls 
Which revive rich Bankers' souls. 

Steeped in care and sorrow — 
" If you but elude a protest — 
What you owe is surely no test 

Of what you can borrow\" 



Though I see in " Foreign News " 
Fresh Napoleonic brews, 
Yet, of iron-sided screws 
Cherbourg's harbor full 



222 MODERN FAITH. 

Worries, but scares not, the skittish, 
Atlas-shouldered, jolly British, 
Lion-hearted Bull. 



For the price of Consols still 
Shows that Faith, with ready till, 
Takes grist to the British mill 

And its hoppers feeds ; 
While the growl of bears satanic, 
Preaching ruin, preaching panic, 

Still no panic breeds. 



Who shall say that Faith has flown, 
Mourn her loss with tear and groan, 
While Napoleon on his throne 

Sceptic Frenchmen trust ? 
While we pay our parish preacher, 
To maintain each living creature 

Is but concrete dust ; 



MODERN FAITH, 



223 



Or but charcoal which no fire, 
Unfanned by him, can inspire 
With the brighter, purer, higher 

Ray of Koh-i-noor — 
While, for Pat the road to glory 
Opens still through Purgatory, 

By the Bishop's door. 





IN FIFTH AVENUE, 

jjY husband is neither young nor old, 
Though his hair is turning gray. 
My temper is neither hot nor cold, 
Yet I mope the livelong day. 

My house is neither spacious nor small ; 

Tis built in the usual way, 
And nicely furnished from garret to hall, 

Yet I mope the livelong day. 



We have children twain, a boy and a girl, 

My every wish they obey, 
Tom's a rough diamond and Maud a pearl. 

Yet I mope the livelong day. 



IN FIFTH AVENUE. 225 



Abroad I may either walk or drive, 
As it suits my humor's play. 

We breakfast at nine and dine at five, 
And I mope the livelong day. 



The bees that feed all winter on honey 

To flowers return in May. 
All seasons are like, with plenty of money, 

Yet I mope the livelong day. 

My husband's the bee that gathers the sweets, 

In sunshine he makes the hay, 
And drudges in rain through muddy streets, 

While I mope the livelong day. 



When dinner is over, he, like a drone, 

On the sofa snoozes away, 
And over the paper I mope alone 

At night— as I moped all day. 

*5 



-226 IN FIFTH AVENUE. 

They called me lovely when I was young, 
And fond of praise and display ; 

Tis a tale that's told and a song that's sung, 
For — I mope the livelong day. 



An old admirer unto me came, 

Resolved fresh homage to pay, 
And, tenderly sighing, he whispered his flame 

As I moped at home one day. 

He came just after the postman's bell — 

My husband was far away — 
And when he swore that he loved me well, 

I moped no more that day. 



An Indian god in a jewelled shrine 

Condemned forever to stay, 
Like me— if alive — would mope and pine 

When alone the livelong day. 



IX FIFTH AVENUE. 

From worship to earthly love is a stride- 

A stage without a relay — 
The abrupt transition touched my pride, 

And I moped no more that day. 



He seized my hand, and I felt a spark, 

His eye shot a wicked ray 
Which I sometimes see again in the dark, 

When I've moped the livelong day. 



Though I forgave him, he wanted still more 

I scorned my vows to betray, 
But ordered him to be shown the door, 

And moped no more that day. 



And I som*e times wish that this stupid life 

Might finish without delay \ 
I'm a virtuous, uncomplaining wife, 

But I mope the livelong day. 

1^—2 



228 



IN FIFTH A VENUE. 



And when to our marble church we go, 

I wonder why people pray, 
For I have everything here below, 

Yet I mope the livelong day. 





TOM'S FUNERAL 



Harry. 

j|E shall be late for dinner ! 
What is it stops the carriage ? 
Ah ! burying some poor sinner ! 
Tis not the hour for marriage. 



Arthur. 

Have patience, Hal ! A regiment 

Of men-at-arms amain 
Is clashing in its swift ascent 

The snail-paced funeral train. 



" Right flank ! Five paces backward fall !" 

The soldiers stand at rest ; 
Bassoons and cornets louder brawl ; 

The drummers roll their best. 



230 TOM'S FUNERAL. 

The hearse's sable steeds curvet ; 

The crowd swells like a wave ; 
The undertaker's in a pet ; 

The pall-bearers look grave. 

Harry. 

We shall be late for dinner — 
John, push along your horses ! 

This poor old coffined sinner 
May make us lose two courses. 

Arthur. 

To me this confluence in the street, 

Of warrior and of mummer, 
Seems as should Spring and Autumn meet 

No intervening summer. 

From adverse points they each advance, 

Halt, pass, and onward go ; 
As, in the figures of the dance, 

Two parties dos-d-dos. 



TOM'S FUNERAL. 23 1 

Voltaire said " all roads lead to Rome f 
" Or Death," might tip the phrase ; 

Be wave or mould our shrouded home, 
There end our devious ways. 

# # # # 

The funeral snake now crawls this way : — 

Ah ! so poor Tom is dead ! 
It seems to me but yesterday 

That I beheld him wed. 

Harry. 

We shall be late for dinner- 
Pray, what was his profession ? 

Rich, doubtless — or much thinner 
Would be this dense procession. 

Arthur. 
'Tis thus remorse, for past neglect, 

Prompts us to make amends. 
Perhaps these mourners half suspect 

That Tom in Heaven hath friends. 



232 TOM'S FUNERAL. 

Ere unthrift wasted his estate, 
Want never left his door, 

And he, when ruined, change of fate 
Heroically bore. 

Harry. 

We shall be late for dinner — 
Of all this what's the meaning ? 

If *he was plucked, poor sinner, 
These crows will find no gleaning ! 

Arthur. 

He had some patrimony left — 
The oyster Fortune's shell — 

An entail out of reach of theft, 
And of his power to sell. 



He married — such a termagant ! 

And then felt doubly poor ; 
She eyed his former friends askant, 

Till they forsook his door. 



TOM'S FUNERAL. 233 

The only friend that stanch remained, 

Despite her freezing breath, 
Was one, who, when his heart you've gained, 

Caresses you to death. 



His praises have so oft been sung, 
He needs no other bard : 

For still, at spigot or at bung, 
Men worship Saint Otard. 



It is not to Tom's wasted life 
These mummers homage pay ; 

But partly to enrage the wife 
In death he holds at bay. 



Besides, he came of gentle stock ; 

Has kinsmen temperate, 
Who build their faith on Grace Church rock, 

Are pillars of the State. 



234 TOMS FUNERAL. 

I should have paid this farewell call, 

If I had only known — 
Before this dinner and this ball — ■ 

Poor Tom " the sponge had thrown." 

Harry. 
We're off — now then, for dinner ; 

We shall just save our time. — 
I'm sorry your poor sinner 

I knew not in his prime ! 




A ROYAL ABODE 




j|F to dwell within a Palace, 

Out of reach of w r ant or malice, 
Is a king to be ; 
If the loftier one's story, 
Higher soars one's earthly glory, 
Few are kings like me. 



Though a monarch, I've no nation 
To preserve from grim starvation, 

And no uproar fear ; 
But throughout my city stately 
Suffered am to walk sedately, 

Free from scow 7 l or sneer. 



236 A ROYAL ABODE. 

Me surround no courtiers pettish 
With their capers etiquettish, 

Ceremonious, cold ; 
Jealous heartburns ill-concealing, 
One, because the other, kneeling, 

Doth my slippers hold. 



Mine's a life of royal pleasure ; 
All my days are days of leisure, 

All the nights the same ; 
When I take an extra bottle, 
Cares my throat-latch never throttle, 

No one cries out " Shame." 



And the visions of my slumber 
Haggard faces ne'er encumber ; 

At my will I rise, 
And whene'er it suits my fancy, 
Rolls and coffee brings up Nancy 

With the dark-blue eyes. 



1 



A ROYAL ABODE, 237 

From my larder's tempting plenty, 
Dine alone or dine with twenty 

Or a hundred guests, 
Sit till our convivial laughter 
Shakes the glasses, thrills the rafter, 

Mingling songs and jests. 



Lots of servants round the table ; 
Lots of grooms within the stable ; 

Nay, a Commodore, 
With his word and gesture serious, 
On the quarter-deck imperious, 

Is not worshipped more. 

Of all this the glad fruition 
Hold I upon one condition, 

Sometimes hard to fill- 
Hard as Fessenden must drudge it 
When compelled to shape his budget, - 

I MUST PAY MY BILL. 



BECKFORD, 



| Y eyes are dim, my thin locks gray, 
The avalanche of years hath bent 
My frame — will it suspend decay 
If, at your bidding, I repent ? 



Repent ! Do monarchs abdicate 

When senses wane and pleasures cloy ? 

Doth avarice expropriate 

The wealth which buys no other joy ? 



The hoary king retains his throne, 
The miser's palsied grasp his hoard ; 

Shall I the crumbling fane disown 
Of which my will is still the lord ? 



BECKFORD. 239 

Repent ! While Love's bright galaxies 

Still glisten in the blue of sleep, 
And shapes once worshipped greet my eyes 

When up the slope I turn to peep ? 



Read in yon bark that quits the shore, 
The tale, by years and tempests told, 

Of planks, without their sap of yore, 
Wave-twisted from the builder's mould. 



Yet, while she floats, intrepid tars 
Confide their all to her, nor pause 

To think how frail the screen that bars 
Them from the ocean's myriad jaws ! 



She hath her legends of rare freights, 
Of food to starving peoples borne, 

Of silks and teas from China's gates, 
And spices from the Isles of Morn. 



24<3 BECKFORD. 

When weary of such " yarns " her crew- 
Cast webs, like spiders, to the shore ; 

Their watch, in tempests, they fight through, 
Then sleep as though the fight were o'er. 

If they beyond such hourly care 

Look not, whose cares may cease to-morrow, 
Shall I that drift I know not where 

Weigh down my sinking years with sorrow ? 

The wind is rising • let me glean, 

From Time's heaped sands, such golden grains 
As miners gather up between 

The walls of long-exhausted veins. 




TO A WELL-KNOWN CAMELLIA, 



| RAY, who was Lady Hume? and why her blush ? 
Was it a sad or sweet emotion 



Which wakened on her cheek this earliest flush 
Of dawn awakening the ocean ? 

Was it the voice of homage women prize, 
Or undreamt Love's abrupt confession ? 

Or did the mute reproach of sorrowing eyes 
Beyond all speech make intercession ? 



Was it the flash of anger half controlled, 
Or shame's ill-masked hue of panic ; 

Or the resentment of a virtue bold 
Withstanding passion's burst volcanic ? 



16 



242 TO A WELL-KNOWN CAMELLIA. 

We'll hope that she, whose name upon thy bloom 

All princes shall outlast and powers, 
Lacked not a soul her beauty to perfume 

Like thee, O Queen ! but of the scentless flowers ; 



That, like the matron fair I may not name, 
Her blush betrayed a soul transcending 

Her charms, and, through them, glowing to proclaim 
Its grace with their effulgence blending. 








MEDIEVAL ART, 




[HE limner's pious task was done. 
His " Crucifixion n painted ; 
And, in the convent, many a nun 
In saintly rapture fainted, 



The friars from the abbey came 
To see the work uncovered ; 

The abbot asked the painter's name 
Who, trembling, near it hovered, 



The monks were loud, the painter dumb, 
The lordly abbot whispers, 
" There's our refectory ! Limner, come, 
Before we pass to vespers !" 

j6 — 2 



244 MEDIMVAL ART. 

The painter spoke : " Your Lordship knows 

True art needs inspiration ; 
Pray, what's the subject you propose ; 

Fasting or Jubilation ?" 



" Sir Limner," said the lordly Priest, 
" We care not what your choice is, 
Provided it, like Cana's feast, 
The pious heart rejoices." 



Limner and abbot made accord — 

'Tis now a stable shabby 
Where fades that " Supper of our Lord,' 

The glory of the abbey. 




TO WILLIAM HENRY HURLBERT. 



MODERN SKETCHING, 

1*111 ERE upon the river's marge, 
EgBa Is the scene I thought so fair : 

Whilst I sketch its beauties rare, 
Smoke your puro in the barge. 



Yonder oak the creepers bind 
Shall my centre be — its roots 
O'er the water stretch their shoots 

Like the fingers of the blind. 



246 MODERN SKETCHING, 

First I trace the stream so stately, 
Say — a victor's silver car 
With its train of spoils of war, 

Parting crowds — of trees — sedately. 



From its mother-fountain weaned, 
With its faults the wayward river 
Rolls on heedlessly for ever, 

Now an angel — now a fiend ! 



So — my water seems all sky ? 

Wait till I put in my glaze, 

And its soft aerial haze 
Shall both cheat and please your eye. 



Poor old tree ! with creepers twined, 
River Time is slowly draining 
Those few roots their hold retaining, 

True to grandeur undermined. 



MODERN SKETCHING. 1^1 

Trees and grandeur — all must tumble, 
All must topple in the stream — 
" Life" — says Calderon — " is a dream" 

Art is proud if man be humble ! 



Here, upon my canvas planted,— 
This old tree may wave forever 
Fadeless leaves, above the river, 

Underneath a sky enchanted ! 

Fra Angelico, the painter, 

While his brush was silvering angels 
Hovering over gray Evangels, 

Felt, one eve, his touch grow fainter ; 



Never dropped it — passed to glory ! 

Paints he still in Paradise ? 

That's a question for the wise — 
But for us— enough the story ! 



1 



24<> MODERN SKETCHING. 

Passed — and still his angels cry — 
Poised on never-drooping pinions, 
Snowy flags of Heaven's dominions- 

Hosanna ! in his frescoed sky ! 



Still his Patriarchs gravely smile, 
Whilst we say with softened breath, 
Standing where he welcomed death, 

"What a beatific style !" 




THE EXILE, 



flHEY, who in the churchyard sleep, 
Or the bosom of the deep, 



Or beneath the sabre's sweep, 

Are not all that die. 
Other loved ones pass away, 
Whom we mourn as dead, while they 

With the living hie. 



Homeward turns the funeral train ; 
" Brother ! freed from mortal pain, 
Thou in warmth wilt rise again 

From thy cold repose ; 
When the sea its dead shall yield, 
And the gorged battle-field 

Shall its lips unclose." 



250 THE EXILE. 

Time dries tears ; and jest and laugh 
Crown the brimming cup \ye quaff, 
Long before his epitaph 

Moss and age efface ; 
Nay, the shipwreck's fearful story, 
Or the combat's victims gory, 

Years from memory chase. 



But when boyhood's melodies 
Shed their dew in festive eyes, 
Through soft mists we see arise 

Phantom-like, the friend, 
Dead, yet living, who from home, 
Is in exile doomed to roam 

To life's dreary end. 



I 




LOST AND FOUND, 

I. Lost. 

To Major C * * * U. S. Infantry, reported " dead 
on the field of honor" at Gaines' Mill, June 2ph, 1862. • 



LEGEND of the guillotine, 
Or of the gibbet's vengeful cord, 



Or of two foes at sunrise seen 
To grasp the pistol or the sword, 

May for a beat our pulses stop, 
While fancy sees the axe descend, 

The pinioned felon hopeless drop, 
The slayer o'er his victim bend, 



252 LOST AND FOUND. 

When one, of old a comrade, dies, 

His life-march flits before our ken, 
Dim passing shadows that arise 

Upon a wall, to fall again ; 
But being told some dearer brow 

Lies cold 'neath Azrael's marble seal, 
As to a cannon-shot, we bow, 

And nearer to the grave-yard feel. 

But fancy's self-adjusted glass 

May not include the vaster woe 
Of crews that storm-fiends, as they pass, 

In ocean's barren furrows sow : 
Or of gay legions, which with pride 

Of crested ranks clothed hill and dale, 
Swept down by battle's furious tide, 

Like stately grain by summer's hail. 

'Twas thus on me this strife had gleamed 
But as an airy pageant's show 

Of war's bold game, which well beseemed 
Its varying chances' ebb and flow ; 



LOST AND FOUND. 253 

Until it like a mirage, waned, 

And bared thy mortal wound — Oh friend ! 
With whom the parting toast I drained 

Was, " May the conflict quickly end," 

The Old Year sank within our bowl, 

And, when the New in splendour rose, 
I should have wept — heroic soul ! 

To think thou wouldst not see its close ; 
To dream that Atropos then held, 

E'en then, the scissors near thy thread, 
And that our goblet-chimes but knelled 

Thy fate, to death and glory wed. 

When I recall thy pensive face, 

The smile that smoothed its furrows deep, 
The sternness veiled by tender grace, 

As lilies screen a lion's sleep ; 
I feel that we who weep thee are 

Poor trimmers who — as sailors guide 
Their vessels — waste our souls in care 

To follow, not to breast the tide. 



254 LOST AND FOUND. 

A teacher of the Art heroic, 

Who precept with example twines, 
Nor counterfeits a virtue stoic 

Against whose rule his soul repines, 
Is he who drills a nation's Youth 

The call of Duty to obey, 
To fight the fight of right and truth, 

To point — and more, to lead the way. 

Such wert thou, Friend, whose loss I mourn 

As martial seed ! Thy fertile yield 
Might, like the Future's garnered corn, 

Have bearded many a battle-field. 
Thy country was thy only wife, 

Thy troop thy only family ; 
For her thou hast laid down thy life, 

Whose sons had gladly died for thee ! 



LOST AND FOUND, 2$$ 



II. — Found, 

To Major C * * # , U. S. Infantry, dangerously 
wounded and made a prisoner at Gaines Mill, June 
2jth, 1862. 

My tears fell on an empty grave, 

Yet let them not be shed in vain, 
But dedicated to the brave 

Whom thousands mourn amongst the slain. 



My dirge, in feeble numbers wrought 
With pious heart, shall consecrate 

'Their memory whose death has brought 
Such grief as thy imagined fate, 



256 LOST AND FOUND. 

Could tears wake them to life again, 
Their forms heroic would arise, 

Like trampled grass from quickening rain, 
Beneath a Nation's weeping eyes. 



Could plaint or song their ears but thrill 
As thine awoke to hear my strain, 

No pen were dry — no voice were still, 
From where they lie to distant Maine. 



Yet deem not that my heart retracts 
The praise ne'er meant to dim the eye 

Of one whose future words and acts 
Shall verify that eulogy. 



I greet thee as some vessel fair 
Her owner hath deplored as lost, 

When on his gaze, through summer-air, 
Her white sails glisten off the coast ; 



LOST AND FOUND. 



257 



And up the cliffs glad neighbours rush, 
As to a fire — and grasp his hand 

Whose moistened cheek the breezes flush 
That waft his lost bark to the land. 




17 



THE WIDOW OF WORCESTER, 




ball's bluff. 

AST Spring, when Frank had fed the ploughed 

and harrowed ground with seed, 
A fearful cry tore by us with the South wind's 

winged speed. 
But we hoped it was a nightmare, till the news was 

brought from town 
That the horde of Charleston maniacs had torn our 

banner down. 
In my bitter grief and anguish keen I felt the ancient 

ire 
Of Bunker Hill and Lexington course through my 

veins like fire ; 



THE WIDOW OF WORCESTER. 259 

Till, as lightnings cease when breaks the dark cloud's 

heart upon the land, 
I wept, when, on my thin gray locks, I felt Frank's 

manly hand, 
And saw my grandsire's musket gleam within his 

clenched grip, 
And read the clear and stern gray eye that chid his 

quivering lip \ 
Read that the eye would smile no more, until it saw 

the foe, 
While the lips were loth to shape the words, " Dear 

Mother, I must go." 
So I sealed them with a kiss, dried up my tears, and 

filled his sack, 
And, at dawn, upon his home my only darling turned 

his back. 



From my cheek, at parting, stole his lips to whisper in 

my ear, 
" Don't let my Ruth forget me, though I stay away 

a year," 

17 — 2 



260 THE WIDOW OF WORCESTER, 

Our garden's yield was plenteous, and the meadow- 
filled the mow, 
And Ruth came over twice a day, to milk the brindled 

cow. 
The rye that Frank had sown sprang up, and turned 

from green to gold, 
But a stranger's flail within the barn, its owner's 

absence told ; 
Whilst the hireling reaped the grain, I shuddering 

thought, but held my breath, 
How busy in Virginia were the reaping-hooks of 

death ! 
Thus the troubled summer sped ; our note of time the 

weekly cheer 
Of his letters \ and we kissed the one that numbered 

half a year. 

Yesterday, I heard our boys had crossed the broad 
Potomac's flow ; 

Ruth was reading of the streams where Babel's weep- 
ing willows grow, 



THE WIDOW OF WORCESTER. 26 1 

When I saw a dove perch on the wire which flashes by 

our gate 
Words of gladness or of sorrow for the people and 

the State. 
On that lightning cord, the South wind sighed a sad 

^Eolian moan ; 
And my heart grew sick, on looking up, to see the 

bird had flown ! 
Neighbors say there's been a battle, and that we have 

lost again ; 
Was that dove my poor boy's spirit ? Is his name 

among the slain ? 





THE BUDDED ROSE, 

ENTLE maiden ! whom sixteen 
Summers drape with statelier grace 
Than thy mirror's placid sheen 

Held when first I saw thy face ; 
Thou art now as one awaiting 

To be ferried o'er the stream, 
Ever narrowing and abating, 

Which divides thee from thy dream : 



Waiting till some glorious morn 
That young ferryman appears 

At the notes of whose sweet horn 
Hopes and blushes come with fears ; 



THE BUDDED ROSE. 263 

Then his shallop, he, unmooring, 

Arrow-like shall speed to thee, 
And thy foot scarce touch the flooring 

Ere he whispers, " Come with me ! 



" Not across the shrinking river, 

But adown its channel mid 
To the island where, forever, 

Nestling as the doves lie hid, 
I may tell thee how I love thee, 

While thou answerest, Love me more, 
Till my tenderness shall prove thee 

Wisely to have left the shore." 




MON DERNIER AMOUR, 




DELWEISS, Edelweiss, 
Edelweiss was she 
Budding on that mountain top 
Far above the sea ! 
Edelweiss, Edelweiss, 
Edelweiss again 
Scarce a new moon later 
Blooming in the plain. 
Edelweiss upon the Rigi, 
Lilien Weiss upon the lea, 
Fifty years have dug the chasm 
That divideth her from me ! 



MON DERNIER AMOUR. 265 

In the valley as I stood 
Grey and owl-like by the wood 
She a lily 'gainst the green 
On her stately stem was seen ; 
Though a child within her bodice 
Yet in face and form a goddess, 
I could pray, yes ! pray and kneel. 
Die, if need were, for her weal. 
Gamblers rather lose their all 
Than forsake the mocking ball, 
And, to love is greater gain 
Than not being loved is pain. 



Edelweiss, Edelweiss 
On the Jungfrau steep ! 
Snows as pure as where I pluck thee 
Shall thy starry petals keep ; 
And a happier lot betide thee 
Where thy sister fair shall hide thee 
Than amidst the snows eternal 
Of thy glacier home supernal 1 



266 



MON DERNIER AMOURS 



For this bettering of thy fortune 
Let thy gratitude importune 
Her to breathe a gentle Ave, 
For the soul of him that gave thee. 




ANTEPENULTIMATE, 



IIHALL I sit and wait for Death, 
With a sigh at every breath 
For the hours of gladness flown, 
From the present drear and lone ? 
Sit, abandoning all hope 
Of a brighter horoscope ? 
Sit, as in a skiff that glides 
Down some rapid's angry tides ? 
Sit, nor dash a valiant oar 
To regain the rugged shore ? 
Yes ! I'm weary of the fight ; 
Aj ax-like, my smitten sight 
Findeth neither in the day 
Nor the night, a cheering ray ; 



« 

268 A NTEPENUL TIM A TE. 

Though the shore by which I glide 
Is my native river-side, 
And the hamlets that arise 
Wear the old familiar guise ; 
Though yon steeple points the road 
Pious forefathers have trode. 

In the Church, another Voice 
Bids the kneeling fold rejoice. 
In the Hall another Squire 
Sits before the yule-log fire ; 
All are strangers, — why should I 
Midst them tarry, but to die ? 




TO SAMUEL L, M. BARLOW. 



SUB TEGMINE FAGL 



OU marvel I should bid farewell 
» To cities and to men — 
At fifty — and contented dwell 
Within this lonely glen. 



Long be it ere afflictions give 
Your undimmed faith the lie, 

And teach you it is hard to live 
Where those you cherish die ! 



270 SUB TEGMINE FAG/. 

While here I draw, with every breath, 

Of life a balmy share, 
Your city seems the haunt of death 

When to it I repair. 



So many of its palaces 

Are sepulchres for me, 
Of those who shared a happiness 

That never more shall be ; 



That when my footsteps pause beside 
Some old friend's dwelling-place, 

A gravestone seems the door, once wide 
With welcoming embrace. 



And e'en the living few, of all 
My comrades I yet meet, 

Seem tottering to a funeral, 
Along the callous street. 



SUB TEGM1NE FAGI. 2JI 



Afar from walls in mourning hung, 
And mutes so nigh the tomb, 

These forests seem forever young, 
These fields dispel my gloom ! 



I cannot tell the birds apart 

Which in my beeches sing, 
From those which, last year, taught my heart 

To beat in tune with Spring. 



The self-same squirrel seems to trip 
From branch to branch in glee, 

That I beheld, last summer, skip 
About the self-same tree. 



The night-hawks, at the close of day, 

The owl to supper call • 
The cricket chirps his roundelay 

Beneath my chimney-wall ; 



272 SUB TEGMINE FAGL 

And this is why I bade farewell 
To cities and to men — 

At fifty— and contented dwell 
Within this lonely glen ! 




THE POETS VOICE, 

[HEN the Nightingale's carol is over. 

And the widoVd rose pines for her lover, 
Fall- his feathers like leaves at her feet \ 
But when age dulls the voice of the singer, 
In his heart-strings its echoes still linger, 
And his spirit sighs strains yet more sweet, 



Like a Nightingale, dying in glory, 
Malibran, queen of musical story, 

Expired with a trill in her throat : 
Yet her genius, the million to capture, 
Hath not left a throb of the rapture 

With which they once welcomed her note, 



274 THE POET'S VOICE. 

But the voice of the Poet immortal 
Throws open the heart's golden portal, 

Long after his lips close in Death. 
With its music still tremble his pages, 
And the echoes of far-distant ages 

Shall sigh their response to his breath. 




[AN EXPERIMENT^ 



LE MANOIR D£ LOCKSLEY, 

[ MIS ! Laissez-moi attendre ici que palisse l'aurore ; 
Laissez-moi ! Quand vous me voudrez, donnez 
haut du cor sonore. 

C'est bien toi ! Manoir de Locksley. Et autour, comme 

jadis, 
Dans les tristes dunes Ton entend se he'ler les courlis * 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 

Comrades, leave me here a little, 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of 
while as yet 'tis early morn : old, the curlews call. 

Leave me here, and when you want Dreary gleams about the moorland fly- 
me, sound upon the bugle horn. ing over Locksley Hall ; 

l8— 2 



276 LE MANOIR DE LOCKSLEY. 

Locksley ! dont les tours dominent les coteaux jusqu'au 

rivage, 
Oil le flot-billon deferle en cataracte sur la plage. 

Que de nuits m'ont vu, debout souscette ogive contempler, 
Au couchant, le grand Orion avec lenteur s'incliner ; 

Ou le lever, dans la brume qui encoiffe les collines, 
Des Pleiads — mouches a feu prises en tresses argentines. 

Dans ces landes ma jeunesse feerique s'abreuvait 

Des merveilles de science que le grand Passe transmet : 

Quand les siecles ecoules reposaient comrae un champ 

fecond 
Faisant croire a la promesse que le Present cache au fond : 



Locksley Hall, that in the distance Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled 

overlooks the sandy tracts, in a silver braid. 

And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring 

Here about the beach I wandered, 
into cataracts. 

nourishing a youth sublime 

Many a night from yonder ivied case- With the fairy tales of science, and the 

ment, ere I went to rest, long result of Time ; 

Did I look on great Orion slowly slop- 

, ,,, When the centuries behind me like a 

ing to the West. 

fruitful land reposed ; 

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising When I clung to all the present for the 

through the mellow shade, promise that it closed : 



LE MANOIR DE LOCKSLEY. 2JJ 

Et je scrutai le Futur, autant que Toeil humain penetre, 
De la Vision de l'Actuel a la merveille a naitre. 

Au Printemps se cramoisit a neuf la gorge du Robin ; 
Au Printemps une autre huppe pousse au vanneau libertin. 

Au Printemps un plus vif iris sur le tourtereau s'agite ; 
Au Printemps le coeur d'un jouve^eau soudain d'amour 
palpite. 

Sous sa tendre joue amaigrie se fanait le damas 
Et ses yeux silencieux ne faisaient qu'epier mes pas. 

Ce que voyant je disais : "Ne me caches rien, chere 

Aimee, 
Tout mon etre tend vers toi comme au rivage la maree." 



When I dipt into the future far as In the Spring a young man's fancy- 
human eye could see ; lightly turns to thoughts of love. 

Saw the Vision of the world, and all 

- , . . , , Then her cheek was pale and thinner 

the wonder that would be. — 

than should be for one so young, 

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes And her eyes on all my motions with a 

upon the Robin's breast ; mute observance hung, 

In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets 

,. ir . . And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, 

himself another crest ; J c * 

and speak the truth to me, 

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on Trust me, cousin, all the current of my 

the burnished dove ; being sets to thee." 



278 



LE MANOIR DE LOCKSLEY. 



De sa joue et son front blancs jaillit un eclair ephemere, 
Vermeil comme quand l'Ourse deploie au Nord sa ban- 
niere. 

Puis j'observai le tumulte de son sein a mes aveux 
Et son ame dans l'obscur profond de l'ombre de ses 
yeux. 

"J'ai voile, Cousin, mes sentimens de peur de me 

nuire \ 
" M'aimes-tu ?" fit-elle en pleurant, " Longtemps je l'ai 

voulu dire." 

L'amour prit le sablier du temps entre ses doigts ardents. 
Et, le renversant, en sable d'or fit couler les moments ; 



On her pallid cheek and forehead, came 

a color and a light, 
As I have seen the rosy red flushing in 

the northern night. 

And she turned — her bosom shaken 
with a sudden storm of sighs — 

All the spirit deeply dawning in the 
dark of hazel eyes — 



Saying, " I have hi»d my feelings, fear- 
ing they should do me wrong ;" 

Saying, " Dost thou love me, cousin ?" 
weeping, ' f I have loved thee long. " 

Love took up the glass of Time, and 
turned it in his glowing hands ; 

Every moment, lightly shaken, ran 
itself in golden sands. 



LE MANOIR DE LOCKSLEY. 279 

L'amour tira tant d'arpeges de la harpe de la Vie, 
Que le ton du Soi, abime, s'absorba dans l'harmonie. 

Souvent la cognee au taillis, le matin, nous surprenait 
Quand, des transports du Printemps, sa voix mes veines 
remplissait ; 

Plus d' un soir, lorsque a se croiser les voiles nous con- 

templames, 
A la rencontre des levres se confondirent nos ames. 

O oousine ! O cceur futile ! Aimee mon eternel deuil ! 
Lande morne ! Triste rive oil Fcnde fremit sur 1'ecueil ! 

Bassesse inapprofondie par la sonde du poete ! 

D'un regard austere ou mot bourru docile marionnette ! 



Love took up the harp of Life, and smote And our spirits rushed together at the 

on all the chords with might ; touching of the lips. 

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, 

. . . r • i_ O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my 

passed in music out 01 sight. ' J 

Amy, mine no more ! 

Many a morning on the moorland did O the dreary, dreary moorland ! O 

we hear the copses ring, the barren, barren shore ! 

And her whisper thronged my pulses 

..... . . . Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser 

with the fulness of the Spring. ' 

than all songs have sung, 

Many an evening by the waters did we Puppet to a father's threat, and servile 

watch the stately ships, to a shrewish tongue ! 



28o 



LE MANOIR DE LOCKSLEY. 



Dois-je esperer que, m'ayant connu, tu trouvesle bonheur 
En t'abaissant a un rang plus bas d'emotions et de 



coeur? 



Is it well to wish thee happy ?— having On a range of lower feelings and a 
known me to decline narrower heart than mine ! 




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POPULAE, EDITION OF MR. DISRAELI'S SPEECHES. 
Disraeli's (The Bight Hon. B.) Speeches on the Con- 
stitutional Policy of the Last 30 Years. Royal i6mo, is. 4<1. ; in cloth, 
is. iod. 

*** Selected and edited, with the approval of the late First Minister of the Crown, hy J. F. 
Bulley, Esq. The text is mainly founded on a careful comparison of the Times newspaper and 
Hansard's Debates, as corrected by Mr. Disraeli, and of which the publisher has obtained special 
licence to avail himself. 

Artemus Ward's Lecture at the Egyptian Hall, with 

the Panorama, 6s. Edited by T. W. Robertson (Author of " Caste," 
"Ours," "Society," &c), and E. P. Hingston. Small 4to, exqui- 
sitely printed, green and gold, with numerous tinted illustrations, 
price 6s. 




" Mr. Hotten has conceived the happy idea of printing Artemus Ward's 
% Lecture' in such a way as to afford the reader an accurate notion of the 
emphasis, by-play, &c, with which it was delivered. We have no hesita- 
tion in saying that Mr. Hotten has almost restored the great humorist to 
the flesh." — Daily Telegraph. 

**The tomahawk fell from our hands as we roared with laughter — tha pipe of peace slipped from 
between our lips as our eyes filled with tears! Laughter for Artemus's wit — tears for his untimely 
death! This book is a record of both. Those who never saw Artemus in the flesh, let them read of 
him in the spirit."— Tomahawk. 

*' It actually reproduces Ward's Lecture, which was brimful of first-class wit and humour."— 
—Daily News. 

*' It keeps you in fits of laughter." — Leader. 

"One of the choice and curious volumes for the issue of which Mr. Hotten has become famous."— 
City Press. 

"The Lecture is not alone droll ; it is full of information."— Examiner. 

"It adds one to the books of genuine fun we have got."— Sunday Times. 

Redding's (Cyrus) Personal Reminiscences of Emi- 
nent Men. Thick cr. 8vo, three vols., 5s. complete. 
*** Full of amusing stories of eminent Literary and other Celebrities 
of the present century. The work is a fund of anecdote. 
Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for this ivorh. 

6 John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



The Champion Fig of England. A Capital Story for 

Schoolboys. Cloth gilt. With spirited Illustrations by Concanen, 
coloured and plain, 3s. 6d. 

" He was a pig- — take him for all in all, 
We ne'er shall look upon his like again." 

UNIFORM WITH MR. RUSKIN'S EDITION OF " GERMAN 
POPULAR STORIES." 

Prince Ubbely Bubble's New Story Book. 

THE DRAGON ALL COVERED WITH SPIKES. 

THE LONG-TAILED NAG. 

THE THREE ONE-LEGGED MEN. 

THE OLD FLY AND THE YOUNG FLY. 

TOM AND THE OGRE. 

And many other tales. 
By J. Templeton Lucas With numerous Illustrations by Matt 
Morgan, Barnes, Gordon Thompson, Brunton, and other artists. In 
small 4to, green and gold, 4s. 6d. 
Gilt leaves, 5s. 6d. 




*** This is an entirely new story-book, and one that is likely to become 
very popular. 

Acrostics in Prose and Verse. Edited by A. E. H. 

nmo, gilt cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 

SECOND SERIES, izmo, gilt cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 

THIRD SERIES. i2mo, gilt cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 

FOURTH SERIES. With 8 Pictorial Acrostics. i2mo, gilt 

cloth, 3s. 

• FIFTH SERIES. Easy Double. Historical. Scriptural Acrostics. 



i2mo, gilt cloth, gilt edges, 3s. 

The most popular Acrostics published. 

*** Each series sold separately. These are the best volumes of Acrostics ever issued. They comprise 
Single, Double, Treble, and every variety of acrostic, and the set would amuse the younger members 
of a family for an entire winter. 

The whole complete in a case, " The Acrostic Box" price 15s. 
John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



NEW SERIES OF ILLUSTRATED HUMOROUS NOVELS, 

2. The Story of a Honeymoon. By Chas. H. Ross and 

Ambrose Clarke. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 870, cloth, 
gilt, 6s. 




*** An inimitable story of the adventures and troubles of a newly-married couple. Not unlike 
Mr. Burnand's " Happy Thoughts." 

2. Cent, per Cent. A Story written upon a Bill Stamp. 
By Blanchard Jerrold. With numerous coloured Illustrations. 
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. 




MR. MOSS, IN THE DISCOUNTING LINE. 

*** A capital novel, ** intended not only for City readers, but for all interested in money 
matters." — Athenceum. 

The Genial Showman ; or, Adventures with Artemus 

Ward, and the Story of his Life. 2 vols., crown 8vo, illustrated by 
Brunton, 2 is. 

*** This is a most interesting work. It glvea Sketches of Show-Life in the Far West, on the 
Pa. iflc Coast, among 1 the Mines of California, in Salt Lake City, and across the Rocky Mountains ; 
Including chapters descriptive of Artemus Ward** visit to England. 

John Cawde* W/rffaw., 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W* 



, 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



More Yankee Drolleries. A Second Series of cele- 
brated Works by the best American Humorists. Arteritis Ward's 
Travels ; Hans Breitmann ; Professor at the Breakfast-Table ; 
Biglow Papers, Part. IT. ; Josh Billixgs. With an Introduction 
by George Augustus Sala. Crown 8vo, 700 pages, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 

*** An entirely now gathering of Transatlantic humour. Twelve thousand copies of the First 
ieries have been sold. 

UNIFOEM WITH DR. SYNTAX. 
Life in London; or, the Day and Hight Scenes of 

Jerry Hawthorn and Corinthian Tom. Crown 8vo. WITH THE 
WHOLE OF CRTJIKSHANK'S VERY DROLL ILLUSTRATIONS, 
IN COLOURS, AFTER THE ORIGINALS. Cloth extra, 7s 6d. 




Tom and Jerry taking a stro/SL 

*** One of the most popular books ever issued. It was an immense favourite with George IV., 
and as a picture of London life 50 years ago -was often quoted by Thackeray, who devotes one of 
his " Roundabout Papers" to a description of it. Clean second-hand copies of this work always 
realise from £1 to £2. 



Pierce Egan's "Finish" to "Life In and Out of 

London," 8vo, cloth extra, with spirited Coloured Illustrations 
by Cruikshank, i8s. 



- 



*** This is the quaint original edition of one of the most amusing pictures of London life ever 
written. 

Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for this work. 



Tine Old Hunting Books, with Coloured Plates. 

MR. JORROCICS JAUNTS AND JOLLITIES. 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JACK MYTTON. 
ANALYSIS OF THE HUNTING FIELD. 
LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN. BY NIMROD. 
Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for these boohs. 

John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 9 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Price to Subscribers, 27s., afterwards to be raised to 36s. 
life and Newly-Discovered Writings of Daniel Defoe. 

Comprising Several Hundred Important Essays, Pamphlets, and other 
"Writings, now first brought to light, after many years' diligent search. 
By William Lee, Esq. With Facsimiles and Illustrations. 

*#* For many years it has been well known in literary circles that 
the gentleman to whom the public is indebted for this valuable addition 
to the knowledge of Defoe's Life and Works has been an indefatigable 
collector of everything relating to the subject, and that such collection 
had reference to a more full and correct Memoir than had yet been given 
to the world. In 3 vols., uniform with " Macaulay's History of England." 

Vol. I.— A NEW MEMOIR OF DEFOE. 
Vols. II. and III.— HITHERTO UNKNOWN WRITINGS. 
This will be a most valuable contribution to English History and 



English Literature. 



The Best Handbook of Heraldry. Profusely Illus- 
trated with Plates and Woodcuts. By John E. Cussans. In crown 
8vo, pp. 360, in emblazoned gold cover, with copious Index, 7s. 6d. 




*** This volume, beautifully printed on toned paper, contains not only 
the ordinary matter to be found in the best books on the science of 
Armory, but several other subjects hitherto unnoticed. Amongst these 
may be mentioned:—!. Directions for Tracing Pedigrees. 2. De- 
ciphering Ancient MSS., illustrated by Alphabets and Facsimiles. 
3. The Appointment of Liveries. 4. Continental and American 
Heraldry, &c. 




Michael Paraday. Philosopher and Christian. By 

The Kev. Samuel Martin, of Westminster. Toned paper, Portrait, 6d. 

%* An admirabie resume— designed for popular reading—of this great man's life. 



John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Seymour's Sketches* A Companion Volume to u Leech's 

Pictures." The Book of Cockney Sports, Whims and Oddities. Nearly 
200 highly amusing Illustrations. Oblong 4to, a handsome volume, half 
morocco, price 12s. 

'»• A re-issue of the famous pictorial comicalities which were so popular thirty years asro. The 
volume is admirably adapted for a table-book, and the pictures will doubtless again meet with that 
p« ularity which was extended towards them when tha artist piojeeted with Mr, Dickens the famous 

"Pickwick Papers." 

The Famous ■« DOCTOR SYNTAX'S " Three Tours. 

One of the most Amusing and Laughable Books ever published. With 
the whole of Eowlandson's very droll full-page illustrations, in colours^ 
after the original drawings. Comprising the well-known TouiiS: — 

1. In Search of the Picturesque. 

2. In Search of Consolation. 

3. In Search of a Wife. 

The three series complete and unabridged from the original editions in 
one handsome volume, with a Life of this industrious Author — the En- 
glish ire Sage — now first written by John Camden Hotten. 




*** It is not a little surprising that the most voluminous and popular 
English writer since the days of Defoe should never before have received 
the small honour of a biography. This Edition contains the whole of the 
original, hitherto sold for £1 us. 6d., but which is now published at 
7s. 6d. only. 

A VEBY USEFUL BOOK. In folio, half morocco, cloth sides, 7s. 6d. 
Literary Scraps, Cuttings from Newspapers, Extracts, 

Miscellanea, &c. A FOLIO SCRAP-BOOK OF 340 COLUMNS, 

formed for the reception of Cuttings, &c, with guards. 

$ST Authors and literary men have thanked the publisher for this useful 
look. 

*.* A most useful Tolume, and one of the cheapest ever sold. The hook is sure to be appreciated' 
and to become popular. 

Hone's Scrap Book. A Supplementary Volume to the 

"Every -Day Book," the "Year Book," and the "Table-Book." From 
the MSS. of the late William Hone, with upwards of One Hundred 
and Fifty engravings of curious or eccentric objects. Thick 8vo, uniform 
with "Year-Book," pp. 800. [In preparation. 

John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 9 



VERY UfPORTANT NE\V BOOKS. 



Popular Shilling Books of Humour. 



Artemus Ward: His Book. 
Artemus Ward Among the 

Mormons. 
Biglow Papers. 
Orpheus C. Kerr Papers. 

Josh Billings. 



Hood's Yere Yereker. 
Holmes' Wit and Humour. 
Never Caught. 
Chips prom a Rough Log. 
Mr. Sprouts: His Opinions. 



Yankee Drolleries. Edited by George Augustus Sala, 

Containing Artemus Ward ; Biglow Papers ; Orpheus C. Kerr ; Major 
Jack Downing ; and Nasby Papers. One of the cheapest books ever 
published. New Edition, on toned paper, cloth extra, 700 pages, 3s. 6d. 

Orpheus C. Kerr Papers. The Original American 

Edition, Three Series, complete. 3 vols. 8vo, cloth; sells at £1 2s. 6d., 
now specially offered at 15s. 

*** A most mirth-provoking work. It was first introduced into this country by the English 
officers who were quartered during the late war on the Canadian frontier. They found it one of 
the drollest pieces of composition they had ever met with, and so brought copies over for the 
delectation of their friends. 

A Keepsake for Smokers. — " The Smoker's Text- 
Book." By J. Hamer, F.R.S.L. This day, exquisitely printed from 
"silver-faced" type, cloth, very neat, gilt edges, 2s. 6d., post free. 



THE TRUE CONSOLER. 

TTE who doth not smoke hath eith.r 
* A known no ^rcat grief*, or refuseth 
himself the softest consolation, next to 
that winch comes from heaven "What, 
•ofter than woman?" whispers the young 
reader Young reader, -woman tcaze s a* 
well as consoles. Woman makes half th. 
sorrows which she boasts the privilege to 
so.. the Woman consoles us, it is true, 
while we are youni.- and handsome: when 
we are old and ugly, woman snubs and 
■colds us On the whole, then, woman in 
this scale, the weed in that, Jupiter, hang 
out thy balance, and weigh them both; 
and if thou give the preference to woman^ 
all 1 can say is, the next time Juno ruffiM 
thee— O Jupiter ! trv the weed. 
BULWERS " What wiU he *• with HI" 



** A pipe is a great comforter, a pleasant soother. The man who smokes thinks like a sage, 
ftets like a Samaritan."— Bulwer. 

" A tiny volume, dedicated to the votaries of the weed ; beautifully printed on toned paper in, 
believe, the smallest type ever made (cast especially for show at the Great Exhibition in Hyde Par 
but very clear notwithstanding its minuteness. . . . The pages sing in various styles the prai 
of tobacco. Amongst the writers laid under contribution are Bulwer, Kingsley, Charles Lam 
Thackeray, Isaac Browne, Cowper, and Byron." — The Field. 

•Laughing Philosopher (The), consisting of several 

Thousand of the best Jokes, Witticisms, Puns, Epigrams, Humorous 
Stories, and Witty Compositions in the English Language ; intended 
as "Fun for the Million." Square i2mo, nearly 800 pages, frontis- 
piece, half morocco neat, 5s. 6d. 

6 John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



THE NEW •'PTJKIANA SEEIES " OF 

CHOICE ILLUSTRATED WORKS Oh 
HUMOUR. 




Elegantly printed on toned paper, full gilt, gilt edges, for the 
Drawing Room, price 6s. each .— ■ 

2. Carols of Cockayne. By Henry S. Leigh. Vers de 

Societe, and charming Verses descriptive of London Lite. With numer- 
ous exquisite little designs by Alpbed Concanen and the late John 
Leech. Small 4X0, elegant, uniform with " Puniana," 6s. 

2. The "Bab Ballads" New Illustrated Book of Hu. 

moue ; oe, a Gbeat Deal op Eht^ie with veey little Reason. 
By W. S. Gilbeet. With a most laughable illustration oir 

NEAELT EVEEY PAGE, DEAWN BY THE AUIHOB. Utt toned paper, gilt 

edges, price 6s. 

"An awfully Jolly Book for Parties." 

3. Puniana. Best Book of Riddles and Purs ever 

formed. Thoughts Wise and Otherwise. With nearly 100 exquisitely 
fanciful drawings. Contains nearly 3.000 of the best Biddies and 10,000 
most outrageous Puns, and is one of the most popular books ever issued, 
iNew edition, uniform with the "Bab Ballads," price 6s. 

Why did Du Chaillu get so angry when he was chaffed about the 
Gorilla ? Why ? we ask. 

Why is a chrysalis like a hot roll ? You will doubtless remark, " Be~ 
cause it's the grub that makes the butterfly /" But see "Puniana." 

Why is a wide-awake hat so called 1 Because it never had a nap, ani 
never wants one. 

The Saturday Review says of this most amusiner work—" Enormous burlesque— unapproachable 
and pre-eminent. \\ e venture to think that this very queer volume will be a favourite. It deserve* 
£0 be bo ; and we should surest that, to a dull person desirous to get credit with the young holiday 
people, it would be feood policy to invest in the book, and dole it out by instalments." 

John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W» 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



UNIFORM WITH MR. RUSKIN'S EDITION OF " GERMAN 

POPULAR STORIES." 

New Book of Delightful Tales.—" Family Fairy Tales ;" 

or, Glimpses of Elfland at Heatherston Hall." Edited by Cholmon- 
deley Pennell, Author of " Puck on Pegasus," &c, adorned with 
beautiful pictures of "My Lord Lion," "King Uggermugger," and 
other great folks. Handsomely printed on toned paper, in cloth, green 
and gold, price 4s. 6d. plain, 5s. 6d. coloured. 

*** This charming volume has been universally praised by the critical press. 

The Rosicrucians ; their Kites and Mysteries. With 

Chapters on the Ancient Fire- and Serpent-Worshippers, and Explana- 
tions of the Mystic Symbols represented in the Monuments and 
Talismans of the Primeval Philosophers. By Hargrave Jennings. 
1 os. 6d. 
*#* A volume of startling facts and opinions upon this very mysterious 
subject, illustrated by nearly 300 engravings. 

" Curious as many of Mr. Hotten's works have been, the volume now under notice is, among 
them all, perhaps the most remarkable. The work purports to describe the Rites and Mysteries of 
the Rosicrucians. It dilates on the ancient Fire and Serpent Worshippers. The author has certainly 
devoted an enormous amount of labour to these memorials of the ROSE-CROSS — otherwise the 
Rosicrucians."— The Sun, 21st March, 1870. 

Gustave Dore's Favourite Pencil Sketches. — His- 
torical Cartoons ; or, Kough Pencillings of the World's History from 
the First to the Nineteenth Century. By Gustave Dore. With 
admirable letterpress descriptions by Thomas Wright, F.S.A. Oblong. 
4to, handsome table book, 7s. 6d. 




*** A new book of daring and inimitable designs, which will excite considerable attention, and? 
doubtless command a wide circulation. 

Captain Castagnette. His Surprising, almost Incre- 
dible Adventures. 4to, with Gustave Dore's Illustrations, is. 9d. 
(sells at 5s.) 
Direct application must be made to Mr. Hotten for tlvis book. 

Cent, per Cent. A Story written upon a Bill Stamp. 

By Blanchard Jerrold. With numerous coloured illustrations in 
the style of the late Mr. Leech's charming designs, price 7s. 6d. 

*** A Story of " The Vampires of London," as they were pithily termed in a recent notorious 
case, and one of undoubted interest. 

John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 






VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



AARON FENLEY'S Sketching in Water Colours, 21s. 

By the Author of " The English School of Painting in Water- Colours," 
&c. Illustrated with Twenty-one Beautiful Chromo-Litho- 
graphs, produced with the utmost care to resemble original Water- 
Colour Drawings. Small folio, the text tastefully printed, in hand- 
some binding, gilt edges, suitable for the drawing-room table, price 21s. 

*** It has long been felt that the magnificent work of the great EDglish master of painting in 
•water-colours, published at £± 4s., was too dear for general circulation. The above embodies all 
the instructions of the distinguished author, with twenty-one beautiful specimens of water-colour 
painting. It is a most charming present fob a young lady. 



A Clever and Brilliant Book (Companion to the " Bon Gaultier 
Ballads"), PUCK ON PEGASUS. By H. Cholmondeley 



Pennell. 




■ This most amusing work has aVready 
passed through five editions, receiving 
everywhere the highest praise as" a clever 
C: and brilliant book." TO NO OTHER 
' ' WORK OF THE PRESENT DAY HAVE 
80 MANY DISTINGUISHED ARTISTS CONTRIBUTED ILLUS- 
TRATIONS. To the designs of GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, JOHN 
LEECH, JULIAN PORTCH, "PHIZ," and other artists, SIR NOEL 
PATON, MILLAIS, JOHN TENNIEL, RICHARD DOYLE, and M. 
ELLEN EDWARDS have now contributed several exquisite pictures, 
thus making the new edition— which is twice the size of the old one, 
and contains irresistibly funny pieces— THE BEST BOOK FOR THE 
DRAWING-ROOM TABLE NOW PUBLISHED. 

In 4-to, printed within an india-paper tone, and elegantly bound, gilt, 
■gilt edges, price 10s. 6d. only. 



John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 

Sets of "Punch," 1841—1860. Mr. Hotten 

purchased from the Messrs. Virtue and Co. their entire remainder 
of this important set of books, which contains, among its 12,000 Illus- 
trations and Contributions from the most noted Wits of the time, the 
whole of Leech's Sketches, 4 vols. ; Leech's Pencillings, 2 vols. ; 
Tenniel's Cartoons ; Doyle's Mr. Pips hys Diary ; Manners and 
Customs op the English ; Brown, Jones, and Robinson ; Punch's 
Almanacks, I vol.; Thackeray's Miscellanies, 4 vols.; The Caudle 
Lectures ; Story of a Feather ; &c, &c. 39 half-yearly vols, bound in 
20 vols., cloth gilt, gilt edges, published at £16 10s., to be obtained of 
Mr. Hotten for £6 10s. only. 

The Standard Work on Diamonds and Precious Stones - 

their History, Value, and Properties, with Simple Tests for Ascer- 
taining their Reality. By Harry Emanuel, F.R.G.S. With nume- 
rous Illustrations, tinted and plain. New Edition, Prices brought 
down to Present Time, full gilt, 12s. 6d. 






M Will be acceptable to many readers." — Times. 

♦♦An invaluable work for buyeri and sellers."— Spectator. 

See the Times' Review of three columns. 

* # * Tliis new edition is greatly superior to the previous one. It gives 
the latest market value for Diamonds and Precious Stones of every size. 

The Young Botanist : A Popular Guide to Elementary 

Botany. By T. S. Ralph, of the Linnaean Society. In 1 vol., with 
300 Drawings from Nature, 2s. 6d. plain, 4s. 6d. coloured by hand. 

*** An excellent book for the young beginner. The objects selected as illustrations are either 
easy of access as specimens of wild plants, or are common in gardens. 

Gunter's Modern Confectioner. The Best Book on 

Confectionery and Desserts. An Entirely New Edition of this 
Standard Work on the Preparation of Confectionery and the Arrange- 
ment of Desserts. Adapted for private families or large establish- 
ments. By William Jeanes, Chief Confectioner at Messrs. Gunter'a 
{Confectioners to Her Majesty), Berkeley-square. With Plates, post 
iJvo, cloth, 6s. 6d. 

t: ' All housekeepers should have it"— Daily Telegraph. 

* # * This work has won for itself the reputation of being the Standard 
English Book on the preparation of all kinds of Confectionery, and on 
the arrangement of Desserts. 

10 John Camden Hotten, 74 and 7§ f Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



John Ruskin and George Cruikshank. — " German 

Popular Stories." Collected by the Brothers Grimm, from Oral 
Tradition, and Translated by Edgar Taylor. Edited by John Ruskin. 
WITH TWENTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER THE INIMI- 
TABLE DESIGNS OF GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. Both series com- 
plete in i vol. Yery choicely printed, in small 4to, price 6s. 6d. 

*** These are the designs which Mr. Ruskin has praised so highly, placing them far above all 
Cruikshank's other works of a similar character. So rare had the original book (published in 1823- 
1826) become, that £b to JE6 per copy was an ordinary price. By the consent of Mr. Taylor's family 
a new Edition is now issued, under the care and superintendence of the printers who issued the 
originals forty years ago. The Illustrations are considered amongst the most extraordinary 
examples of successful reproduction ever published. A very few copies on LAEGE PAPER, 21s. ; 
or with proofs of plates on India paper, price 31s. 6d. 

"'Grimm's German Stories' was so well adapted to the genius of Cruikshank, that it has 
suggested one of the very best of all his etchings. The two elves, especially the nearer one, who is 
putting on his breeches, are drawn with a point at once so precise and vivacious, so full of keen fun 
and inimitably happy invention, that I have not found their equals in comic etching anywhere. It is 
said that these elves are regarded with peculiar affection by the great master who created them ; it 
is only natural, for he has a right to be proud of them." — Hammer ton's Etching and Etchers. 



Hood's "Whims and Oddities," 1826. A Mew and 

very Cheap Edition of this well-known Book, with the Author's 40 
inimitably funny Woodcuts. Square i2mo, price is. stiff cover; or 
cloth neat, is. 6d. .' 




*#* Christopher North once remarked of this book that "it contained? 
more wit, more fun and humour, than any other work of its size." 

Hawthorne's Note Book. A new and most interesting 

volume of Autobiographical Reminiscences, Ideas, and Suggestions 
by this delightful author, selected from his private Note Books. 
Square i2mo, stiff cover, is. ; or cloth neat, is. 6d. 

gST" The poet Longfellow thus anticipates this charming book :— " Live 
ever, sweet, sweet book. It comes from the hand of a man of genius. 
Everything about it has the freshness of morning and May. M 

John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. $ 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



. 



NEW BOOK BY THE AUTHOR OF "A NIGHT IN A WORK- 

HOUSE." 
Preparing, in crown 8vo, handsomely printed, 

The Wilds of London : with a Pull Account of the 

Natives. By the Amateur " Lambeth Casual," Mr. James Green* 
wood, of the Fall Mall Gazette. 

"Mr. James Greenwood, the brother of the editor of the Pall Mall Gaxette, who wrote such 1 a 
spirited account of his workhouse experiences for this journal, has just commenced a series of 
'descriptive sketches, from the personal observations and experiences of the writer, of remarkable 
scenes, people, and places in London.'" — London Review. 

The Thames from Oxford to London. Forty Exquisite 

Photographs. Royal 4to. Both series complete in a neat French 
morocco folio, with flaps, gilt side, £3 10s. 

LIST OF PHOTOGRAPHS.— First Series. 



Oxford. 

Barges at Oxford. 

Ifley Mill. 

Bridge at Nuneham. 

Day's Lock. 

Shellingford. 

Walhngford Bridge. 

Near Goring. 

Windsor (4 views). 
Eton College. 
Halliford. 
Garrick's Villa, 
Hampton. 



Pangbourne (3 views). 
Boat House, Park 

Place. 
Henley-on-Thames. 
Medmenham Abbey. 
New Lock, Hurley. 
Marlow. 

Second Series. 
Moulsey. 
Hampton Court (2 

views). 
Twickenham (3 views). 
Eel-pie Island. 



Great Marlow Lock. 

Boulter's Lock, Maid- 
enhead. 

Maidenhead Railway 
Bridge. 

Water Oaldey, near 
Windsor. 



Duke of Buccleuch's. 
Richmond (2 views). 
Kew (2 views). 
Westminster Palaco 
and Bridge. 

*** This is an admirable collection of Views of the most charmingly picturesque spots on the 
River Thames, in the very highest style of Landscape Photography. 

A Tour in Crete, during the Insurrections of the 

Cretans, 1867. By Ed. Postlethwaite, Author of " The Fortunes of 
a Colonist," "Pilgrimage over the Prairies," "Diary of George Dern," 
" Poems by Tristam," &c. This day, cloth neat, price 2s. 6d. 

Xietters from Greece, written in 1867. By Ed. 

Postlethwaite, Author of "A Tour in Crete," &c. With Three 
Photographs, cloth, 4s. 6d. 

FOLK-LORE, LEGENDS, PROVERBS OF ICELAND. 

Now ready, Cheap Edition, with Map and Tinted Illustrations, 2s. 6d. 

Oxonian in Iceland; with Icelandic Folk-Lore and 

Sagas. By the Rev. Fred Metcalfe, M.A. 

Tom OTarchmont: a Novel. Just out, 3 vols. 8vo, 

cloth, 3 is. 6d. 

"A story of English life, with a hero who is not depicted in accordance with the conventional 
rules for ma8culine perfection framed by modern society." 



12 



John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



MOST AMUSING NEW BOOK. 
Caricature History of the Georges (House of Hanover), 

Very entertaining book of 640 pages, with 400 Pictures, Caricatures, 
Squibs, Broadsides, Window Pictures. By T. Weight, F.S.A. 7s. 6d, 




*#* Companion Volume to "History of Signboards." Reviewed in? 
almost every English journal with highest approbation. 

"A set of caricatures such as we have in Mr. Wright's volume brings the surface of the age 
before us with a vividness that no prose writer, even of the highest power, could emulate. 
Macaulay's most brilliant sentence is weak by the side of the little woodcut from Gillray wich give* 
jxs Burke* and Fox." — Saturday Review. 

u A more amusing work of its kind never issued from thft press." — Art Journal 

41 This is one of the most agreeable and interesting books of the season." — Public Opinion. 

41 It seems superfluous to say that this is an entertaining book. It is indeed one of the most 
entertaining books we have read for a long time. It is history teaching by caricature. There is 
hardly an event of note, hardly a personage of mark, hardly asocial whimsey worth a moment'* 
notice, *vhich is not satirised and illustrated in these pages. We have here the caricaturists from 
Hogarth to Gillray, and from Gillray to Cruiksh ank"— Morning Star. 

,l It is emphatically one of the liveliest of books, as also one of the most interesting. It has the 
twofold merit of being at once amusing and edifying. The 600 odd pages which make up the 
goodly volume are doubly enhanced by some 400 illustrations, of which a dozen are full-paga 
engravings." — Morning Post. 

"Mr. Thomas Wright is so ripe a scholar, and is so rich in historical reminiscences, that he 
cannot fail to make an interesting book on any subject he undertakes to illustrate. He has achieved 
a success on the present occasion."*— Press. 

Notice.— Large-paper Edition. 4to, only 100 printed, 

on extra fine paper, wide margins for the lovers of choice books, witli 
extra Portraits, half -morocco (a capital book to illustrate), 30s. 



Romance of the Hod : an Anecdotal History of the 

Birch in Ancient and Modern Times. "With some quaint illustrations. 
Crown 8vo, handsomely printed. \In preparation. 



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11 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Common Prayer. Illustrated by Holbein and Albert 

Durer. With Wood Engravings of the Dance of Death, a singularly 
curious series after Holbein, with Scriptural Quotations and Proverbs 
in the Margin. 8vo, exquisitely printed on tinted paper, 8s. 6d. ; in 
dark morocco, Elizabethan style, gilt edges, 16s. 6d. 
Apply direct for this exquisite volume. 

AN APPROPRIATE BOOK TO ILLUMINATE. 

•*^* The attention of those who practise the beautiful art of Illuminating 

is requested to the following sumptuous volume. 

The Presentation Book of Common Prayer. Illus- 
trated with Elegant Ornamental Borders in red and black, from 
" Books of Hours" and Illuminated Missals. By Geoffrey Tory. 
One of the most tasteful and beautiful books ever printed. May now 
be seen at all booksellers, 
Although the price is only a few shillings (7s. 6d. in plain cloth ; 8s. 6d. 

antique do. ; 14s. 6d. morocco extra), this edition is so prized by artists 

that at the South Kensington and other important Art Schools copies 

are kept for the use of students. 

English Church Furniture, Ornaments, and Decora- 
tions, at the Period of the Reformation. Edited by Ed. Peacock, F.S. A. 
MOST INTERESTING BOOK ON ANGLICAN CHURCH ORNA- 
MENTS. Thick 8vo, with illustrations, 15s. 

4t Very curious as showing what articles of church furniture were in those days considered to be 
•idolatrous or unnecessary. The work, of which only a limited number has been printed, is of th« 
highest interest to those who take part in the present Ritual discussion." — See Religious Journals. 

NEW BOOK BY PROFESSOR KENAN'S ASSOCIATE. 

Apollonius of Tyana : the Pagan or False Christ of 

the Third Century. An Essay. By Albert Reville, Pastor of the 
Walloon Church at Rotterdam. Authorised translation. Price 3s. 6d, 

*** A most curious account of an attempt to revive Paganism in the third century by means of a 
false Christ. Strange to say, the principal events in the life of Apollonius are almost identical with 
the Gospel narrative. 

Carlyle on the Choice of Books. Address by Thomas 

Carlyle, with Memoir, Anecdotes, Two Portraits, and View of hie 
House in Chelsea. This day, elegantly printed, pp. 96, cloth 2s. 

*** The leader in Daily Telegraph, April 25th, largely quotes from above "Memoir." 

Smiles's (Saml.) Story of the Life of George Stephen- 
son; a Companion Volume to " Self-Help." Sells at 6s. A few 
copies only at 3s. 9d. Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for this book. 

Clone's (Ed.) Life. By Sir James Prior, with his 

Manuscript Anecdotes, " Maloniana," &c. A handsome library voL 
with fine portrait. Sells at 14s. Cloth new, 4s. 3d. 

Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for this book. 

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The History of Advertising in all Ages and Countries. 

A Companion to the "History of Signboards." With many very 
Anecdotes and Examples of Successful Advertisers. By 



Messes. Larwood and Hot-ten. 



[In preparation. 



Signboards : their History. With Anecdotes of Famous 

Taverns and remarkable Characters. By Jacob Larwood and John 
Camden Hotten. " A book which will delight all." — Spectator. This 
day, Fourth Edition, pages 580, price 73. 6d. only. 



Trom the M Timet.* 

"It is not fair on 
the part of a re- 
viewer to pick out 
the plums of an 
author's book, thus 
filching away hi* 
cream, and leaving 
little but skim-milk 
remaining; but. even 
if we were ever so 
maliciously inclined, 




From the * Tim*** 

we could not in the 
present instance 
pick out all Messrs. 
Larwood and Hot- 
ten's plums, because 
the good things are 
so numerous as to 
defy the most whole- 
sale depredation."— 
Review of thre* 
columns 



BULL AND MOUTH. 
(Ansel St, St Martin's-le-Grand, circa 1S00.) 

*#* Nearly 100 most carious illustrations on wood are given, showing 
the various old signs which were formerly hung from taverns and other 
houses. The frontispiece represents the famous sign of "The Man 
loaded with Mischief," in the colours of the original painting said to 
have been executed by Hogarth. 

Notice.—" Large-paper Edition," with Seventy-Two 

extra Illustrations (not given in the small edition), showing Old 
London in the days when Signboards hung from almost every house. 
In 4to, half -morocco neat, 30s. 

♦ >* Only a small number printed on extra fine paper with wide margins for the lover of fine books. 

The Parks of London. Their History and Asso- 
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AN EXTRAORDINARY BOOK. 

Hotten's Edition of " Contes Brolatiques " (Droll 

Tales collected from the Abbeys of Loraine). Par Balzac. With 
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*** The most singular designs ever attempted by any artist This book is a fund of amusement 
80 crammed is it with pictures that even the contents are adorned with thirty-three illustrations. 

Direct application must be made to Mr. Hotten for this work. 



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13 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF SIR DAVID BREWSTER'S 

WORKS. 
Brewster (Sir David, LL.D.) More Worlds than 

One, the Creed of the Philosopher, the Hope of the Christian. Crown 
8vo, cloth, very neat, 4s. 6d. 

*** This is the Tenth Edition of this popular work. 

Brewster's (Sir D.) Martyrs of Science. Galileo, 

Tycho Brahe, Kepler. Crown 8vo, cloth, very neat, 4s. 6d. 

*** This makes the Third Edition of this favourite work. 

Brewster's (Sir D.) The Kaleidoscope Practically- 
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neat, 4s. 6d. 

Brewster's (Sir D.) The Stereoscope Practically 

Described. Crown 8vo, with numerous illustrations, cloth neat, 
49. 6d. 

*** This was the great philosopher's last contribution to practical science. 

The Book of Nature and the Book of Man, in their 

Eelation to each other. By Chas. 0. Groom Napier, F.G-.S. Nume- 
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With an Introduction by the late Lord Brougham. Demy 8vo, cloth 
extra, 18s. 

*** An entirely new work on Christian Philosophy, and one that is calculated to be very popular. 

Darwinism Tested by the Science of language. By 

Professor Schleicher. Translated by Dr. A. V. W. Bikkers. 
Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 

*#* A very curious book, tracing all European Languages to an Asiatic source. The work ha3 
attracted considerable attention on the Continent. 

Malone's (Ed.) Life. By Sir James Prior, with his 

Manuscript Anecdotes, " Maloniana," &c. A handsome library vol., 
with fine portrait. Sells at 14s. Cloth new, 4s. 3d. 

Apply to Mr. Hotten direct for this book. 

Pedigrees. — Marshall's Index to the Printed 

Pedigrees of the Heralds' Visitations. 8vo, cloth, a very useful book 
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Apply direct for this worlc. 
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VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



NEW BOOK BY THE "ENGLISH GUSTAVE DORE."— 

COMPANION TO THE "HATCHET-THROWERS." 

"Legends of Savage Life. By James Greenwood, the 

famous Author of " A Night in a Workhouse." With 36 inimitably 
droll illustrations, drawn and coloured by Ernest Griset, the 
" English Gustave Dore." 4to, coloured, 7s. 6d. ; plain, 5s. 

*#* Readers who found amusement in the " Hatchet-Throwers " will not regret any acquaintance 
they may form with this comical work. The pictures are among the most surprising which have 
come from this artist's pencil. 

"A Munchausen sort of book. The drawings by M. Griset are very powerful and eccentric.'" — 
Saturday Review. 

School Life at Winchester College; or, the Remi- 
niscences of a Winchester Junior. By the Author of "The Log of 
the Water Lily," and ''The Water Lily on the Danub3." Second 
edition, revised, coloured plates, 7s. 6d. 




*** This book does for Winchester what " Tom Brown's School Days " did for Rugby. 

Log of the " Water Lily " (Thames Gig), during Two 

Cruises in the Summers of 1851-52, on the Rhine, Neckar, Main, 
Moselle, Danube, and other Streams of Germany. By R. B. Mans- 
field, B.A., of University College, Oxford, and illustrated by Alfred 
Thompson, B.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge. [In preparation. 

*** This was the earliest boat excursion of the kind ever made on the Continental rivers. Very 
recently the subject has been revived again in the exploits of Mr. MacGregor in his M Rob Roy 
Canoe." The volume will be found most interesting to those who propose taking a similar trip, 
whether on the Continent or elsewhere. 

The Hatchet-Throwers. With Thirty-six Illustra- 
tions, coloured after the Inimitably Grotesque Drawings of Ernest 
Griset, the English Gustave Dore. 4to, cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. j plates, 
nncoloured, 5s. 

*** Comprises the astonishing adventures of Three Ancient Mariners, the Brothers Brass of 
Bristol, Mr. Corker, and Mungo Midge. 

Melchior Gorles. By Henry Aitchenbie. 3 vols. 

8vo, £1 us. 6d. 

*■** The New Novel, illustrative of " Mesmeric Influence," or whatever else we may choose to 
term that strange power which some persons exercise over others. 

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AN INTERESTING VOLUME TO ANTIQUARIES. 
Army Lists of the Roundheads and Cavaliers in the 

Civil War, 1642. 4to, half morocco, handsomely printed, price 7s. 6d. 

*** These most curious Lists show on which side the gentlemen of England were to be found 
during the great conflict between the King and the Parliament. Only a very few copies have been 
most carefully reprinted on paper that will gladden the heart of the lover of choice, books. 

Magna Charta. An Exact Facsimile of the Original 

Document preserved in the British Museum, very carefully drawn, 
and printed on fine plate paper, nearly 3 feet long by 2 feet wide, with 
the Arms and Seals of the Barons elaborately emblazoned in gold and 
colours, a.d. 1 215. ^ Price 5s. ; by post, on roller, 5s. 4d. Handsomely 
framed and glazed, in carved oak of an antique pattern, 22s. 6d. 

*** Copied by express permission, and the only correct drawing of the Gi*eat Charter ever taken. 
It is uniform with the "Roll of Battle Abbey." A full translation, with Notes, Las Just been 
prepared, price 6d. 

UNIFORM WITH "MAGNA CHARTA." 
Roll of Battle Abbey; or, a List of the Principal 

Warriors who came over from Normandy with William the Conqueror 
and settled in this country, a.d. 1066-7, from Authentic Documents, 
very carefully drawn, with the Arms of the principal Barons elaborately 
emblazoned in gold and colours, price 53. ; by post, on roller, 5s. 4d. 
Handsomely framed and glazed, in carved oak of an antique pattern, 
price 22s. 6d. 

Illuminated Charter - Roll of Waterford, Temp. 

Richard II. In 1 vol. 4to, with 19 large and most curious Plates in 
facsimile, coloured by hand, including an ancient View of the City of 
Waterford. Subscribers, 20s. ; Non-subscribers, 303. [Preparing. 

*** Of the very limited impression proposed, more than 150 copies have already been subscribed 
for. An ancient* Illuminated Roll, of great interest and beauty, comprising all the early Charters 
and Grants to the City of Waterford, from the time of Henry II. to Richard II. Full-length Portrait* 
of each King adorn the margin, varying from sight to nine inches in length. 

The Oldest Heraldic Roll.—" The Xtoll of Cserlaver- 

lock," with the Arms of the Earls, Barons, and Knights who were 
present at the Siege of this Castle in Scotland, 26 Edward I., a.d. 
1300 ; including the Original Anglo-Norman Poem, and an English 
Translation of the MS. in the British Museum. Bv Thomas Wright, 
Esq., M.A., F.S.A. THE ARMS SPLENDIDLY EMBLAZONED IN 
GOLD AND COLOURS. In 4to, very handsomely printed, extra gold 
cloth, 1 8s. ; or crimson morocco extra, the sides and back covered in 
rich neur-de-lys, gold tooling, 55s. 

*** A very handsome volume, and a delightful one to lovers of Heraldry, u it is the earliest 
blazon or arms known to exist. 

Now publishing in monthly parts, price is. 

A New and Complete Parochial History of Cornwall, 

Compiled from the Best Authorities, and Corrected and Improved 
from Actual Survey; with Illustrations of the Principal Objects of 
Interest. Volume I. now ready, price 16s. 

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VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



MR. SWINBURNE'S NEW BOOK. 

*** lt A ivonderfal literary performance" — "Splendour of 
style and majestic beauty of diction never surpassed" — WILLI AM 
BLAKE: A Critical Essay. With facsimile Paintings, 
coloured by hand, from the original drawings painted by 
Blake and his wife. Thick 8vo, pp. 350, 16s. 



" An extraordi« 
nary work : vio- 
lent, extravagant, 
perverse, calcu- 
lated to startle, to 
shock, and to alarm 
many readers, but 
abounding in fsg 
beauty, and cha- 
racterised by intel- 
lectual grasp. . . 
• . His power of 
word - painting is 
often truly won- 
derful—sometimes, 
it^ must be ad- 
mitted, in excess, 
but always full of 
matter, form, and 
colour, and instinct 




with a sense of 
vitality." — Daily 
Reus, Feb. 12, 
1868. 

"It is in every 
way worthy of Mr. 
Swinburne's high 
fame. In no prose 
work can be found 
passages of keener 
poetry or more 
tinished grace, or 
more impressive 
harmony. Strong, 
vigorous, and 
musical, the style 
sweeps on like 
a river/ ' — Sunday 
Times, Jan. 12, 
1868. 



2Er. Swinburne's New Poem. — A Song of Italy. 

Fcap. 8vo, toned paper, cloth, price 3s. 6d. 

*** The Athcnceum remarks of this poem—" Seldom has such a chant been heard 80 full of glow, 
■Strength, and colour." 

Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads. Third Edition. 

Price 93. 

2£r. Swinburne's XTotes on his Poems, and on the 

Reviews which have appeared upon them, is now ready, price is. 

Sir. Swinburne's iLtalanta in Calydon. New Edition, 

fcap. 8vo, price 6s. 

Mr. Swinburne's Chastelard. A Tragedy. New 

Edition. Price 7s. 



HLv. Swinburne's Queen Slother and Rosamond. 

New Edition, fcap. 8vo, price 53. 

Sr. Swinburne's Bothwell. A NEW POEM. 

[In preparation* 



John Camden HotUn, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, IF. 



17 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 






Original Edition of Blake's Works. 

NOTICE.— Mr. Hotten has in preparation a few facsimile copies (exact 
C3 to pa/per, printing — the water-colour drawings being filled in by an 
wrtist) of the Original Editions of the Books written and Illustrated 
by William Blake. As it is only intended to produce — with utmost 
care — a few examples of each work, Mr. Hotten will be glad to hear from 
any gentleman who may desire to secure copies of these wonderful books. 
The first volume, " Marriage op Heaven and Hell/' 4to, is now being- 
issued, price 30s., half morocco. 

"Blake is ft real came, I assure you, and a most extraordinary man he is, if he still be living. 
He is the Blake whose wild designs accompany a splendid edition of l Blair's Grave.' He paints in 
wuter-cotours marvellous strange pictures — visions of his brain— which he asserts he has seen. They 
have great merit. I must look upon him as one of the most extraordinary persons of the age."— 
chadles Lamb. 



George Chapman's Plays, from the Original Texts- 
Edited, with Notes and an Introduction, by Algernon Charles 
Swinburne. 4 vols., tastefully printed, uniform with Wm. Pickering's 
Editions of the " Old Dramatists." [In preparation*. 

UNIFORM WITH MR. SWINBURNE'S POEMS. 
Fcap. 8vo, 450 pages, Fine Portrait and Autograph, 7s. 6d. 

Walt Whitman's Poems. (Leaves of Grass, Brum* 
Taps, &c.) Selected and Edited by William Michael Kossetti. 

u Whitman is a poet who hears and needs to be read as a whole, and then the volume and torrent 
%t his power cany the disfigurements alons with it and away.— He is really a fine fellow."— 
Chamber *'t Journal, in a very long Notice, July 4th, 1808. 




85?* A great deal of prejudice in this country has been shown against 
this very remarkable author. His work should be read by independent 
minds, and an opinion formed totally apart from the attacks that have- 
been made upon him. 



Hossetti's Criticisms on Swinburne's Poems. 

3s. 6d. 



Price 



The Prometheus Bound of 2Eschylus. Translated in 

the Original Metres by C. B. Cayley, B.A. Cloth, price 3s. 6d. 

SECOND EDITION.— Now ready, 4*0, 10s. 6d., on toned paper, 
very elegant. 

Bianca. Poems and Ballads. By Edward Brennan. 



iS 



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VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Pair I&osamond, and other Poems. By B. Mont- 

gomekie Ranking (of the Inner Temple). Fcap. 8vo, price 6s. 

Strawberry Hill, and other Poems. By Colburn 

Mayne, Esq. In strawberry binding, fcap. 8vo, 7s. 6d. 

" It is a bright, clever little book, in which we find a great deal of good rhyme, and some genuine 
and pleasing poetry. There are several charming pictures of the historic group, whijh we know 
from Horace Walpole's letters and Sir Joshua's paintings." — Morning Star. 



Infelicia. Poems by Adah Isaacs Menken. Illus- 
trated with NUMEROUS GRACEFULLY PENCILLED DESIGNS DRAWN ON 

wood, by Alfred Concanen. Dedicated, by permission, to Charles 
Dickens, with photographic facsimile of his letter, and a very beau- 
tifully engraved portrait of the Authoress. In green and gold, 5s. 6d. 

* l A pathetic little 
volume exquisitely 
got up." — Sun, 

"It is full of 
pathos and senti- 
ment, displays a 
keen appreciation of 
beauty, and has re- 
markable earnest- 
ness and passion." — 
Globe. 

tk A loving and 
delicate care has 
been bestowed on 
perhaps the dain- 
tiest pages of verse 
that have been 
issued for many 
years." — Lloyd's 
News. 




41 Few, if any, 
-could have guessed 
the power and 
beauty of the 
thoughts that pos- 
sessed her soul, and 
found expression in 
language at once 
pure and melodious. 
.... Who shall 
■ay Menken was not 

" An amusing little book, unhappily posthumous, which a distinguished woman has left as a 
legacy to mankind and the ages." — Saturday Review. 



a poet ? Through- 
out her verse there 
runs a golden thread 
of rich and pure 
poetry." — Press. 

" There is a pas- 
s i o n a t e richness 
about many of the 
poems which is al- 
most startling." — 
Sunday Times. 

" What can we 
say of this gifted 
and wayward 
woman, the exist- 
ence of whose better 
nature will be sug- 
gested for the first 
time to many by the 
posthumous disclo- 
sure of this book? 
We do not envy the 
man who, reading 
it, has only a sneer 
for its writer ; nor 
the woman who 
finds it in her heart 
to turn away with 
averted face." — 
New York Round 
Table. 



Anacreon in English. Attempted in the Metres of 

the Original. By Thomas J. Arnold. A choice little volume, price 4s. 

The Village on the Forth, and other Poems/** By 

Philip Latimer. Just published, elegantly printed, price 3s. 6d. 

Baudelaire. Translations from Chas. Baudelaire,, 

with a few Original Poems. By E. Herne Shepherd. Fcap., samo 
size as Tennyson's "Maud," price 5s. 



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Poems from the Greek Mythology, and Miscel- 
laneous Poems. By Edmund Ollier. This day, cloth neat, 5s. 

"What he has written is enough, and more than enough, to give him a high rank amongst th* 
most successful cultivators of the English Muse."— Globe. 

Poems. Characteristic, Itinerary, and Miscellaneous. 

By P. F. Boe. Part I. — Rythmical Etchings of Character. II. — 



Tracings of Travel. 
7s. 6d. 



III. — Minor Poems. IV. — Translations. Pric 



• 



Poems by James 



Facts and Fancies from the Farm. 

Dawson. Fcap. 8vo, neatly printed, 2s. 6d. 

M Here we have some very pretty and readable poetry— some of it so much above the average a* 
to warrant expectations of something far better, and we shall look forward with interest to the next 
volume from the same hand." — Globe. 

The Idolatress, and other Poems. By Dr. James 

Wills, Author of "Dramatic Scenes," "The Disembodied," and of 
various Poetical Contributions to " Blackwood's Magazine." Price 6s 

11 One great merit of the ' Idolatress' is to be found in the ability with which the writer has cot* 
trasted a spiritual faith and its claims on the conscience, with a material faith that captivates tin,. 
Imagination through the senses." — Athenceum, July 11th, 18G8. 

Lyrics and Bucolics. The Eclogues of Virgil, a 

Selection from the Odes of Horace, and the Legend of the Sibyll. 
Translated by Herbert Noyes, Esq. An elegant little volume, bound 
in blue and gold, carmine edges, price 4s. 6d. 

By the same Author. — An Idyll of the Weald. With 

other Lays and Legends. By Herbert Noyes, Esq. In uniform 
binding, price 9s. 

The New Poetical Satire. — Horse and Foot; or, 

Pilgrims to Parnassus. By Richard Crawley. "I'll not march, 
through Coventry with them, that's flat." Price 3s. 6d. 
C^* The "Pall Mall Gazette" has just given two columns of satisfac- 
tory criticism upon this work. 

Wit and Humour. By the "Autocrat of the Break- 
fast Table." In crown 8vo, toned paper, elegant, price 3s. 6d. 

*** A volume of delightfully humorous Poems, very similar to the mirthful verses of Tom Hood. 
Readers will not be disappoiuted with this work. 

Songs of the Nativity. — Old English Religious 

Ballads and Carols. An entirely new collection of Old Carols, including 
some never before given in any collection. With Music to the more 
popular. Edited by W. H. Husk, Librarian to the Sacred Harmonic 
Society. In small 4to, with very beautiful floriated borders, in the 
Renaissance style, cloth gilt, price 12s. 6d. 



20 



John Camden Hotten, 74 and -j$, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Lost Beauties of the English Language. Revived 

and Rovivable in England and America. An Appeal to Authors r 
Poets, Clergymen, and Public Speakers. By Charles Mackay, LL.D. 
la crown 8vo, uniform with tho " Slang Dictionary," price 6s. 6d. 

[In preparation. 

Captain Grose's Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, 

1785. A genuine unmutilated Reprint of the First Edition, price 6s. 

*** Only a small number of cornea of this very vulgar, bat very curious, book have been printed 
for the Collectors of "Street Words** and Colloquialisms, on fine toned paper, half-bound morocco,, 
gilt top. 

Slang Dictionary; or, the Vulgar Words, Street 

Phrases, and "Fast" Expressions op High and Low Society; 
many with their Etymology, and a few with their History traced. 
With curious illustrations. A New Dictionary of Colloquial 
English. Pp. 328, in 8vo, price 6s. 6d., by post, 7s. 



*£> 


<&* 


f 


, i*% 


j£2 


to 



Bee Two upon Teit, in 
the Dictionary, p. 264. 



Egyptian HieroglypMc verb, 
to he drunk, thawing the a?npto* 
tation of a man'e leg. See 
under Brbaky Leg- (viz, 
Strong Drink) in the Dktioi> 
ary, p. 81, 



Jg^* One hundred and forty newspapers in this country alone have- 
reviewed with approbation this Dictionary of Colloquial English. " It 
may be doubted if there exists a more amusing volume in the English 
language" — Spectator. " Valuable as a work of reference." — Saturday 
Review. "All classes of society will find amusement and instruction in 
its pages." — Times. 



Original Edition of the Famous Joe filler's Jests ;. 

or, the Wit's Yade-Mecum ; a Collection of the most brilliant Jests, 
politest Repartees, most elegant Bons-Mots, and most pleasant short, 
Stories in the English Language. London : printed by T. Read, 1739, 
An interesting specimen of remarkable facsimile, 8vo, half morocco, 
price 93. 6d. 

*** ONLY A VERY FEW COPIES OF THIS HUMOROUS AND 
RACY OLD BOOK HAVE BEEN REPRODUCED. 



John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 



VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



In preparation, an entirely 

Hew Book by the late Artemus Ward. Edited by 

his executors, T. W. Eobertson and E. P. Hingston. Illustrated with. 
35 pictures, taken from his world-renowned Panorama. 

Immediately, cloth, very neat, 2s. 6d. 

The Works of Charles P. Browne, better known as 

"Artemus Ward." Portrait by Geflowski, the Sculptor, and fac- 
similes, &c. 

History of Playing Cards. With Anecdotes, Ancient 

and Modern Games, Conjuring, Fortune-Telling, and Card- Sharping. 
With Sixty curious illustrations. Skill and Sleight-of -Hand ; Gambling 





and Calculation ; Cartomancy and Cheating ; Old Games and Gaming- 
Houses; Card Revels and Blind Hookey; Piquet and Vingt-et-un; 
Whist and Cribbage ; Old-Fashioned Tricks. Pp. 550, price 7s. 6d. 

M A highly-interesting volume."— Morning Pm$t. 

Cruikshank's Comic Almanack. A complete set, as 

published in the original numbers from 1835 to 1853. 19 vols., neatly 
bound in 5 vols., half-morocco, Roxburgh style, £3 3s. Containing 
Merry Tales, Jests, Humorous Poetry, Whims, Oddities, &c, by 
Thackeray, Thomas Hood, Albert Smith, and other well-known 
comic writers. Illustrated with nearly One Thousand Woodcuts 
and Steel Engravings by the inimitable George Cruikshank and 
other Artists. Very scarce. 

Sir. Sprouts his Opinions. The Kew and Genuine 

Book of Humour. Uniform with " Artemus Ward." By Richard 
Wiiiteing. New Shilling Edition now ready. 



23 



John Camden Hottcn, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 




VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. 



Wright's (Thomas, M.A. ) History of Domestic 

Manners and Sentiments in England during the Middle Ages. 1862. 
Thick small 4to. Illustrated with a great profusion of most inte- 
resting woodcuts, drawn and engraved by Fairholt, from the illumi- 
nations in contemporary MSS. and other sources. Cloth, bevelled 
boards, red edges. Sells at 21s. New, 10s. 6d. only. 
Direct application must be made to Mr. Hotten for this Work. 

Castcn's Statutes of Henry VII., 1489. Edited, 

with Notes and Introduction, by John Eae, Esq., Fellow of the Eoyal 
Institution. In remarkable facsimile, from the rare original, small 
folio, 
The earliest known volume of Printed Statutes, and remarkable as 

being in English. It contains some very curious and primitive Legis« 

lation on Trade and Domestic Matters, such as : — 



Price of Hats and Caps j Giving of Livery 

French Wines Concerning Customs 

Act for Peopling Isle Fires in London 

of Wight Pvebels in the Field 
Against Butchers I 



Correcting Priests 
Against Hunter3 
Marrying a Womaa 
against her Will, &e» 



Genealogical Collections concerning the Sir-STasne of 

Baird, and the Families of Auchmedden, Newbyth, and Sauchton 
Hall in particular. With copies of old letters and papers worth pr8» 
serving, and account of several transactions in this country during the- 
last two centuries. Reprinted from the original MS. in the Advo 
cates' Library, Edinburgh. Price to Subscribers, 10s. 6d. [Preparing* 

*** The present edition will include an appendix containing a large amount of fresh srenealogicaS 
information. The work is one possessing general interest, foreign to most Family Histories. No 
pains will be spared to make the work an accurate and beautiful one. As tho impression will '&& 
limited strictly to 1)0 copies, early application must be made to secure them. 

ANECDOTES OF THE "LONG PARLIAMENT" OF 1645. 
The Mysteries of the Good Old Cause: Sarcastic 

Notices of those Members of the Long Parliament that held places, 
both Civil and Military, contrary to the Self-denying Ordinance df 
April 3, 1645 ; with the sums of money and lands they divided among; 
themselves. In 4to, half morocco, choicely printed, price 7s. 6d. 

Warrant to Execute Charles I. An Exact Facsimile 

of this Important Document in the Honse of Lords, with the Fifty* 
nine Signatures of the Kegicides, and Corresponding Seals, admirably 
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14 in. Price 2s. ; by post, 2s. 4d. Handsomely framed and glazed^- 
in carved oak of an antique pattern, 14s. 6d. 

Warrant to Execute Mary Queen of Scots. The 

Exact Facsimile of this Important Document, including the Signature 
of Queen Elizabeth and Facsimile of the Great Seal. Safe on roller, 
23. ; by post, 2s. 4d. Handsomely framed and glazed, in carved oak of 
an antique pattern, 14s. 6d. 

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VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS 



Best Guide to Heading Old MSS., Records, &c— 

" Wright's Court Hand Restored ; or, Student's Assistant in Reading 
Old Deeds, Charters, Records, &c." Half morocco, ios. 6d. 
g£g* A New Edition, corrected, of an invaluable work to all who 

HAVE OCCASION TO CONSULT OLD MSS., DEEDS, CHARTERS, 8fC. It 

contains a series of Facsimiles of old MS8. from the time of the Conqueror, 
Tables of Contractions and Abbreviations, Ancient Surnames, Sfc. 

Handbook of Family History of the English Counties : 

Descriptive Account of 20,000 most Curious and Rare Books, Old 
Tracts, Ancient Manuscripts, Engravings, and Privately - printed 
Family Papers, relating to the History of almost every Landed Estate 
and Old English Family in the Country ; interspersed with nearly Two 
Thousand Original Anecdotes, Topographical ana Antiquarian Notes. 
By John Camden Hotten. Nearly 350 pages, very neat, price 5s. 

* + * By far the largest collection of English and Welsh Topography and Family History ever 
formed. Each article has a small price affixed for the convenience of those who may desire to 
possess any book or tract that interests them. 

Higgins' (Godfrey) Celtic Druids ; or, an attempt to 

show that the Druids were the Priests of Oriental Colonies, the 
introducers of the first or Cadmean System of Letters, the Builders of 
Stonehenge, of Carnac, and other Cyclopean Works in Asia and 
Europe. 4to, numerous plates of Druid monuments, rare, 32s. 

*+* The most philosophical digest of the existing information upon the origin of Druidical 
Worship. Copies have been sold for £7. At the above price the book is ridiculously cheap, com- 
pared with the sums of money that have been paid for it very recently. Large paper copy, boards, 

• 45s., very scarce. 

Direct Application must be made to procure at these reduced prices. 

Esholt in Airedale, Yorkshire : the Cistercian Priory 

of St. Leonard, Account of, with View of Esholt Hall. Small 4to, 
is. 6d. 

London Directory for 1667, the Earliest Known 

List of the London Merchants, nmo, very choicely printed, price 
6s. 6d. See Review in the Times, Jan. 22. 

*** This curious little volume has been reprinted verbatim from one of the only two copies known 
to be in existence. It contains an Introduction pointing out some of the principal persons mentioned 
in the list 

For historical fyd&n4fcogica£^cmoMlhe little book is of the greatest 

EXACT FACSIMILE, LETTER FOR LETTER, OF THE EXCES- 

SIVELY RARE ORIGINAL, 
Much Adoe about IDTothing. As it hath been sundrie 

times publikely acted by the Right Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine 
his seruants. Written by William Shakespeare, 1600. 
•** Small quarto, on fine toned paper, half -bound morocco, Roxburghe 

• Style, cnly 4s. 6d. (Original price, 103. 6d.) 

14 John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 






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